Книга - Only a Mother Knows

Only a Mother Knows
Annie Groves


A compelling novel about four young women in wartime London, from the best-selling author of London Belles and My Sweet Valentine.In Article Row, in London’s Holborn – four young women, Tilly, Sally, Dulcie and Agnes – have already been witnesses to the heartache and pain that Hitler’s bombs have inflicted on ordinary Londoners.Tilly is desperate to wed her beau, Drew. Terrified that something will happen to prevent them from being together, her fears seem to be coming true when he is called back home to America.For her mother, Olive, this only adds to her worries for Tilly. But she has her own hands full when her friend and neighbour, Sergeant Dawson, gets some terrible news. When Olive lends a hand, she finds herself at the sharp end of some unwelcome gossip.For Dulcie, the war has brought an old flame, David, back into her life. But his terrible injuries have changed his life forever. Can something more develop out of their friendship? And for Agnes, she is about to find out something that will change her life, too.In this seemingly endless war, the girls will learn about love, loss and heartache. But they, like thousands of other Londoners, are determined to win the battle on the home front – no matter what it takes.









ANNIE GROVES

Only a Mother Knows










Copyright


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Copyright © Annie Groves 2013

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2013

Cover photographs © Colin Thomas (woman and boy)

James Eadie/Mary Evans Picture Library (background)

Annie Groves asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007361571

Ebook Edition © March 2013 ISBN: 9780007492565

Version: 2017-09-12


In memory of Penny Halsall

24 November 1946 – 31 December 2011


Contents

Cover (#uc55ea1f2-d3bc-5219-8388-db7b84aa0739)

Title Page (#ub0a5200f-e353-56bf-ba61-63d0d54ae70e)

Copyright (#u7e0f4792-67b5-5685-9c56-4643e26dec31)

Dedication (#ua073335f-4a5e-5d3e-af3f-dd7f457ac3e2)

Foreword (#uff447152-97c7-57eb-b493-67ce6fc0e8e6)

Chapter One (#ubd675ca9-dd09-5f6d-99e5-b9080d44e20f)

Chapter Two (#ud3d0e56e-8b25-5564-9f2b-79f74940960a)

Chapter Three (#u540ae053-744a-589e-9630-1960395fcce0)

Chapter Four (#u3bd872e4-ab84-54c8-99bf-b4188ae31c39)

Chapter Five (#u04b850f8-28b4-5a37-ae80-1160c4d4c695)

Chapter Six (#ub6940b2a-92a4-5b3d-af33-163430c75b42)

Chapter Seven (#u771ad273-ac0b-5f12-bc0a-fbbcac8ff967)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Annie Groves (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Foreword


The news of Penny Halsall’s illness came as a great shock. I had been her editor for a number of years at HarperCollins and she was one of my favourite authors. I’d worked with Penny both on the books that she wrote as Annie Groves and on some of the ones that she had written as Penny Jordan – she really was a joy and was much loved by everyone here. Her books were special, they were full of heart and it was impossible not to fall in love with the characters she created. It felt like a great honour to be working on her novels; her books had sold millions and millions of copies all around the globe and she was a legend. It was such a thrill when a new, complete manuscript landed in my inbox and I was eagerly anticipating the next book that she was due to send to me in a few months’ time.

Penny had been working on the Annie Groves Article Row novels, all of which are set in and around the Holborn area of London and all featuring the hopes and heartaches of Tilly, Dulcie, Sally, Olive and Agnes. We had just published My Sweet Valentine, the third in a planned series of five books, it had been a bestseller and there was lots of excitement about the future. Penny and I had recently had a long and fruitful conversation about what she was planning next for the girls of Article Row and I couldn’t wait to read the next instalment. Penny was completely rooted in her characters and had very definite ideas about where they were all going. She spent an awful lot of time researching all of her books and one of my abiding memories of Penny is watching her head off determinedly on a research mission to Holborn after a business lunch in town. Penny constantly thought about her characters and was always playing around with ideas about what the war would hold in store for them all. I was full of anticipation.

When her sister, Prue, broke the news about Penny’s advanced illness, it came completely out of the blue. Penny was such a consummate professional and had never given any indication that she was ill, despite living with cancer for some time. There was little chance to digest this information properly when the devastating news came shortly after that she had died over the Christmas holidays in late December 2011.

At Penny’s funeral, the church was completely packed, not just with family but also with fellow writers, friends, fans and publishing colleagues. But despite the sadness there was laughter too. Penny loved a party and when her favourite song was played – The Maverick’s, ‘I Just Want to Dance the Night Away’ – we were reminded of what a wonderfully happy and positive person she was.

Once back at my desk in London, my mind turned to the difficult issue of what would happen now. My Sweet Valentine was in the middle of the series and Annie Groves’ fans would be desperate to know what was going to happen to those much-loved characters. I had many long talks with Penny’s brilliant agent, Teresa Chris, and both of us agreed that Penny would have wanted nothing more than to have the series completed – she really had put her heart and soul into every page and it would have meant so much to her. Teresa approached Penny’s wonderful sister, Prue, and to our delight, she was a keen supporter of getting the series completed. She allowed me the great privilege of access to Penny’s files, so early one spring morning in 2012, I made the trip up to Prue’s house in Cheshire to see what I could find. We already had some idea of what Penny had in mind, but it wasn’t a complete picture and I knew there were some big gaps. Penny couldn’t have left things in better shape – not only was there a large chunk of manuscript in her files but there were also detailed notes and plot outlines that would help us to complete the puzzle. Penny was such a trouper!

The last piece to be put in place was to find somebody who would be able to marry all of the pieces together and to turn all of this into a narrative that was worthy of Penny. We were almost running out of ideas when Teresa discovered the writer Sheila Riley. Not only did Sheila have something of Penny’s style, but she also hailed from Penny’s beloved Merseyside – without her, this book could never have existed – thank you, Sheila. We were also lucky enough to have the services of Susan Opie, copy editor extraordinaire, and someone who knows the Annie Groves books inside out.

So, some months later and after quite a lot of effort from many marvellous people, I’m sitting here writing this and explaining how this book, and the one to follow it, have come about.

Penny was an amazing person for so many reasons. There was an old-fashioned dignity and modesty about her, and one of the reasons she was so successful was that she knew, instinctively, that although life can sometimes deal you a rotten hand, with guts, determination and plenty of love and kindness, everyone has the power to change their fate. Only a Mother Knows and A Christmas Promise (publishing autumn 2013) really deliver the authentic Annie Groves experience, and I know that you, Reader, won’t be disappointed.

HarperCollins would like to extend their heartfelt thanks to Sheila Riley, Teresa Chris, Susan Opie and especially to Prue Burke and the Halsall estate for their tremendous help in finishing the Article Row series. They have all done Penny proud.

Kate Bradley

Editor




ONE

June 1942


‘… So you let her swan off with her young man … on her own … without as much as a by-your-leave? Well! I must say.’

‘I’m very well aware of what you must say, Nancy,’ Olive sighed with thinning patience, honed from years of living next door to the local busybody, wondering how much more carping she could take from her next-door neighbour, whose watchful eyes and razor-sharp tongue made her a woman the rest of the street avoided at all costs.

Olive had noticed lately how her other neighbours dipped back behind their front doors when Nancy was at large. However, she didn’t feel the need to worry about what they all thought or did; Olive was far too busy minding her own business and getting on with her war-work, collecting and sending parcels out to the troops from the Red Cross shop as well as her fire-watching duties and driving the WVS van to unfortunate beleaguered bombed-out victims who were so traumatised half the time they didn’t even know their own name. And even though the war had worn her saintly patience a little thin it didn’t give her the right to take it out on Nancy. Olive knew that she might have become a bit quick tempered of late, but with the war – no, that was no excuse, she realised. Too many people were blaming their shortcomings on the war and she didn’t want to be one of them.

With a weary sigh Olive, who didn’t have the luxury of standing around all day indulging in idle gossip, made to move but the other woman seemed to be bursting with things to say. Given that every time she left the house Nancy was out in a flash, Olive wondered if her neighbour kept a permanent lookout from behind her front-room curtains but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Live and let live, that was her rule in life – and it usually stood her in good stead where her next-door neighbour was concerned.

She had to silently congratulate the woman on her tenacity; she would have been a boon behind enemy lines as she missed nothing. Olive smiled to herself. Nancy must have that new radar they were talking about on the wireless this morning, the Radio Detection and Ranging system that had been brought out last year and was, according to the Home Service, the country’s best chance of winning the war in the Pacific. Olive, her mind wandering a little, was surprised that it had been made public as so much was hidden from them.

Nancy must have the system installed on her wall, because Olive could not make a move towards her own sandstone scrubbed step without the woman being out waiting for a chat. No matter how much the posters told them to ‘Keep Mum and Save Dad’ her loose-lipped neighbour still got her twopenny-worth in. But this time she was not there just to pass on some gossip, she was trying to make a point, and Olive wanted no part of it.

Bridling now, something she hadn’t experienced much before the war, Olive suspected Nancy wanted to talk about her daughter, Tilly, who had been getting away from the bombing raids in the city and having a few quiet days in the countryside with her young man, Drew, whom they had feared had been badly injured – or worse – in the last raid. Olive had decided it was just the tonic Tilly needed after such a shock. She had assumed the worst, well, they all had. It was only being so busy looking after baby Alice, the new addition to the family, that had kept Olive’s mind from conjuring up what could have befallen Drew that night, and that really didn’t bear thinking about. Tilly adored him so much she would have been devastated if even a hair on his head had been damaged.

No, thought Olive defiantly, this time her domestic arrangements were her own concern and not up for debate whatsoever with Nancy Black.

‘… So I said to Mrs Denver, you know the woman who lost her husband when he was on fire watch in the Blitz …’

‘Yes, of course I know Mrs Denver.’ Olive, growing impatient, cut off Nancy’s diatribe in mid-sentence knowing she would only repeat the awfully tragic story of Mr Denver being blown to smithereens on the roof of a dockside warehouse and whose remains were never found, even though they had all been with Mrs Denver when she received the terrible news.

‘… So I said to her … I said …’ It was obvious Nancy was not going to be silenced, but Olive didn’t have the time to stand around on her spotless step that had been scrubbed only that morning, and she didn’t want to hear Nancy’s views on how Tilly should or shouldn’t behave.

‘… I said to Mrs Denver, “the way these young girls carry on these days, running around, fast and loose” …’

‘I hope you are not insinuating that my Tilly …’

‘… No, of course not,’ Nancy patted Olive’s arm, ‘certainly not your Tilly; she’s a good girl, she is.’ Nancy shook her head, making the steel dinky curlers under her turbaned scarf rattle. If Olive had been mean-minded she might have wondered how Nancy managed to keep the curlers from going for scrap, along with every other superfluous household item, to be used in the war effort to make aircraft for the RAF, but she wasn’t that way inclined and the irrepressible Nancy had started again.

‘… I was just saying to Mrs Denver, it’s not right. It’s not the way we behaved when our chaps were at the Front in the Great War …’

‘Great War!’ Olive spluttered. ‘What was so “great” about it?’ She almost spat the words, she was so angry now. ‘No war is “great”, Nancy, young men dying is not great, losing loved ones is not great, yet you seem to wear the war like your own personal badge of honour.’ Olive took a deep breath, knowing she was in danger of saying things she would later regret, but the milk of human kindness would sour in Nancy Black’s breast, she was sure, and she didn’t know how she stopped herself from saying so.

However, taking a deep sigh, she was immediately sorry for the outburst she had kept locked inside for so long. Nancy would try the patience of a saint, everybody knew that. ‘My Tilly knows how to behave,’ she said determinedly.

It was not her place to go taking it out on Nancy just because she was upset at not seeing Tilly much lately. When the girl told her of her plans to spend a few days with Drew Olive had been shocked, initially, that her unmarried daughter would contemplate going away for a few days with her young man, alone. Yet she knew Drew was a level-headed young man and he would keep Tilly as safe as was humanly possible. Olive was convinced that nothing untoward would take place, unlike her narrow-minded neighbour who only saw the wrong in people, it seemed.

Olive had consented to Tilly and Drew having a short holiday because she didn’t want any more of Tilly’s strained silences. She didn’t like it when she and her only child were at loggerheads, she wasn’t used to it. Also, Olive had to think of the effect it had on the newest member of the household; Sally’s baby half-sister depended upon them all so much now after her parents had been killed in an air raid in Liverpool and she’d had to be brought to London by Callum, who had been Sally’s sweetheart before his sister married Sally’s father. It was complicated, Olive knew, but luckily the child was now blissfully unaware of the circumstances behind her move to Article Row.

Thankfully Alice was the least of Olive’s worries at the moment. It was becoming more and more difficult to satisfy her pristine requirements around the house, with cleaning utensils being rationed and requisitioned for the war effort, and with dust and smoke everywhere it was a job and a half to keep things as clean as she would like. With all these things vying for attention, in the end, it just seemed easier to let Tilly have her few days with Drew – and now she wondered what she ever worried about.

Tilly had looked so happy when Olive said yes. Starry-eyed, she promised they would have separate rooms and a landlady who would give Hitler a run for his money. Everything would be proper and above board, there would be no hanky-panky. Olive gave an involuntary, indignant shiver at the thought, and … if she was honest, she had a sneaking regard for her daughter who was being open about her devoted feelings for the man she loved. To say nothing of the decent way she had been brought up; her daughter was a credit to any mother.

Her only nagging concern was that Drew would still love and respect Tilly when she came home. But why shouldn’t he? she thought, knowing her daughter was head-in-the-clouds happy with adoration. Although Olive realised it was possible that Tilly’s judgement could be clouded, she also understood that wartime had a way of clarifying one’s heartfelt emotions. Life was precious and, above all, love was precious too. It must be nurtured and protected at all costs, Olive sighed.

‘Well, let’s see if she does know how to behave when she’s away from home,’ Nancy Black said, her eyebrow cocked, ‘away from the confines of a protective mother’s watchful eye.’ Straightening her back Nancy clasped her hands under her voluminous bust, her mouth scrunched like a wrinkled prune.

‘Time will tell, Nancy,’ Olive said suddenly, not really caring what her neighbour thought any more.

‘Well I never!’ Nancy exclaimed, blowing a long stream of outraged air from ballooning cheeks.

‘Oh go on, you must have done!’ Olive, feeling reckless now, bit her lips together to stop herself from saying anything else she might repent later, and for once Nancy seemed dumbstruck, lost for words. If it were any other time Olive would have been thrilled. But all too soon Nancy recovered her equilibrium and sallied forth regardless.

‘Well,’ she gasped, ‘I must say!’

‘Yes, Nancy, I know you must and everybody else knows it too.’ Olive could not stop herself now, her words, like water through a ruptured dam, bursting uncontrollably forth. ‘And let me tell you something, you are an interfering busybody whom everybody tries to avoid, and if it’s all the same to you I’ll bid you good day!’ At that Olive pulled on her gloves and, with her head high, she slammed her front gate firmly behind her and marched straight-backed up the street. Nobody, but nobody, was going to cast aspersions on her daughter.

Olive had just reached the top of the street when she literally bumped into Sergeant Archie Dawson, who was ambling around the corner. She was heartily glad that Nancy had retreated into her own house as he caught her deftly around the waist to stop her stumbling into the road and into the path of a horse and cart. Olive could imagine only too well what her vindictive neighbour would insinuate about her innocent friendship with the upstanding policeman. Feeling the warmth of colour rising to her cheeks, she chided herself for being so gauche. She wasn’t a girl any more, with a head full of starry dreams; she was a grown woman with a grown-up daughter … who was having starry dreams of her own right now.

‘Oh, hello, Archie, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Olive could feel her heartbeat quicken and reprimanded herself for being foolish. However, she didn’t want to dwell on what Archie, a married man and serving police sergeant, would think. Instead she concentrated on a couple of children stretching a length of rope across the street and wondered where they came about such a good length, as everything was needed for the war effort.

‘Hello, Olive,’ Archie Dawson said with that usual warmth in his kind, mellow voice as he held her securely until the cart had passed. ‘You look a little flushed, is everything okay?’ He used the latest expression that seemed to be doing the rounds due to the huge influx of American soldiers, who the young ones referred to as GIs on account of the initials on the padded shoulders of their very smart uniforms which stood for Government Issue.

Olive smiled. She never would have imagined someone as upright and respectable as Sergeant Dawson using American slang, but it showed that he was keeping up with the times and that he wasn’t as buttoned-up as the impression he gave to the rest of the community. And if she was honest, she thought it sounded quite good coming from him.

‘Oh, I’ve just had a bit of a run-in with Nancy Black,’ Olive explained. ‘That woman would try the patience of angels.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to say any more, the old witch gave me chapter and verse about …’ He stopped abruptly and Olive could see he was trying to be tactful when he continued ‘… about Tilly and Drew carrying a suitcase and going off in a taxi cab. But we’ll talk no more about it,’ Archie Dawson said gallantly, taking his hand from her waist and giving a low rumbling laugh that seemed to soothe Olive’s bubbling indignation. ‘Suffice it to say, Olive, you are right, she would try the serenity of a saint.’

‘Oh, Archie.’ Olive smiled for the first time that day and in doing so felt all her tension slip away.

‘Not that I’m saying you are not a saint, Olive, you are a very good woman, hardworking, a pillar of the community …’

‘Oh, Archie, you flatter me, I’m nothing of the sort,’ she laughed in that carefree way he always provoked in her. ‘You will have my head swelling.’ Olive could feel little sparks of delight shoot through her. However, they were quickly followed by a heaviness that reminded her she was a busy widow and he was a respectably married man with a young, impressionable foster son who needed the close eye of a decent man to keep him on the straight and narrow. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to Nancy, who was now hurrying up the street resplendent in her carpet slippers.

‘Some of us haven’t got time to stand around indulging in idle chit-chat,’ Nancy said as she hurried by. ‘There is a queue forming outside the butcher’s shop; Mrs Finlay just told me he’s got oxtails on the go.’ In seconds she had passed them and was halfway up the street before turning and saying in a loud voice, ‘Oh, Sergeant! Was that your wife I heard calling just now?’

Olive and Archie watched in stunned silence as Nancy scurried past them in the direction of the butcher’s shop. As she disappeared their gaze remained fixed on the corner of the street. Then, slowly, they turned to each other and, just for a moment, there was a shared intimacy as their eyes locked. But then the spell was broken when Archie’s attention was caught by a passing pigeon swooping down and landing on the road. It was an insignificant thing, but effective in reminding Olive she had things to do.

The lingering connection between herself and Archie … Sergeant Dawson … all at once consumed her with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. However, if she was truly honest, only to herself, even the feeling of guilt was deliciously pleasurable. Turning away quickly now, afraid her thoughts would be plain for Archie to see, Olive took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her obvious raging flush of colour.

They had never done a thing wrong. Nothing improper had ever occurred between them. But Olive had been a married woman. She knew the delights of a man’s strong arms holding her securely through the night. She knew the intimacy of an unexpected stolen kiss. And if she was honest she was finding it increasingly difficult these days to disguise the longing she felt whenever Archie was anywhere near her.

But disguise her feelings she must as Archie was a married man and pillar of the community as well as a serving police sergeant who must uphold all that was decent in these tragic times, in a world gone mad through the ferocious needs of a madman. What would happen if they all gave in to their desires? Everything would fall apart in no time.

Olive drew her fervent thoughts to a close. There never would be anything between them, she knew. There couldn’t be. He had a foster son who looked up to him and needed a stable home life in these uncertain times and she had the girls to look after.

‘Well,’ Olive said, uncomfortable now, ‘I’d better be off before those oxtails have all gone. Good day, Sergeant Dawson.’

‘Good day, Olive,’ Archie said, and she could feel rather than see his lingering look as she hurried up the street.




TWO


‘Will you be able to manage at home on your own?’ Dulcie asked in a rare moment of empathy, taking hold of David’s hand. His head was bent and she couldn’t quite see his expression as the sun was in her eyes. Slowly, she tilted her face to one side to try to take a peek.

‘Under Mr McIndoe’s instructions,’ he said, ‘the hospital has put into place a system whereby I can manage at home with the help of a daily nurse.’

Dulcie noticed he looked rather pleased with the news. However, she wondered if it was too soon and couldn’t keep the erratic feelings of alarm from her voice. ‘I should think you need more time, David.’ It seemed to her that he hadn’t long been sitting out of his hospital bed and now they were throwing him onto the street.

‘Hardly,’ David smiled. ‘Anyway, I can’t wait to get back amongst my own things and wallow in my own bathtub without having a nurse wash me. A man has to have some privacy, you know.’ He gave a guarded smile and Dulcie watched him quietly for a while, as if seeing him for the first time. He was the bravest person she had ever met, though more reserved now, unlike Wilder, the brash, dare-devil fighter pilot who paid her little attention since they discovered her sister, Edith, hadn’t been killed after all and who made a beeline for Wilder every chance she got. Whereas David always listened patiently whilst she poured her heart out. Now why couldn’t Wilder be like that, she wondered.

‘Seen something you like?’ David said, offering a beaming smile.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Dulcie laughed, knowing she’d always had a short attention span, especially when other people were talking about themselves, it was so boring. ‘You were saying?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ David, sitting regulation upright, smiled and slowly shook his head.

With one arm of his striped pyjamas pinned against his proud shoulder, so it didn’t flap around getting in his way, and a plaid woollen rug across his knees, he looked just like any other patient and that was how Dulcie treated him; nobody would have known they were socially and economically worlds apart. David, being landed gentry, was distinctly upper class whereas she came from a terraced house in the backstreets of the East End. But that didn’t bother David or Dulcie; they were just good friends and she knew he would always be there to listen to her grumbles.

‘Did I tell you that Wilder is acting very oddly at the moment, David? He never listens to a word I say.’ She gave a half-smile of confusion when David took a deep, long-suffering breath of air.

‘What?’ Dulcie asked when she saw him smile. However, saying nothing, he indicated with a nod of his head that she should continue, which Dulcie was only too happy to do.

‘It’s not fair, really it isn’t,’ she resumed and then, seeing David’s quizzical expression, she explained. ‘It’s that blousy cat, Edith.’

‘Your sister?’ asked David, his face the picture of easy-going amusement.

‘The same,’ said Dulcie, eager to get on with the character-slaying. ‘She’s got no right carrying on the way she does with my boyfriend and her being my sister makes it even worse. Oh, I can’t stand her at times, she’s always been Mum’s favourite and doesn’t she know it.’ Dulcie gave an emphatic nod of her perfectly styled curls and carried on. ‘Edith’s been getting away with all sorts from the minute she was born, Mum can’t see any wrong in her – well, she should look at her through my eyes, that’s all I can say!’

Dulcie was forced to stop talking in order to breathe as they sat together in the beautiful sunshine, David in his wheelchair and she on the wooden seat next to him in the gardens of the hospital where he was staying whilst he recovered from his injuries and subsequent amputation of his lower legs which had been badly damaged when the aircraft he been piloting had been shot down.

He viewed her with grateful amusement. Dulcie, his little cockney sparrow – if sparrow could ever be used to describe a girl as stunningly beautiful as blonde-haired, brown-eyed Dulcie, with her luscious curves combined with a manner that told a man that he’d be very lucky indeed if he ever got close to actually touching those curves. She always cheered him up and took his mind off his own problems when she made him laugh. There were no such things as molehills in Dulcie’s life; all upsets were mountains.

They had known each other since the beginning of the war, when he had been a good-looking young barrister with the world at his feet and a wife-to-be with an eye on his future title. Dulcie had been a shop girl working on the perfume counter at Selfridges and very ready, he knew, to flirt with the fiancé of her upper-class colleague to whom, she later admitted, she had taken a distinct dislike.

Now his wife was, like his lower legs, feet, and most of one arm, destroyed by the cruelties of war. But they weren’t his only injuries; Dulcie was also privy to the information that the damage to his groin would, as far as anyone knew at this stage, prevent him from fathering a child. Such a shame, she thought, as David was one of the most devastatingly handsome men she had ever set eyes on.

Lydia, his wife, lay in her grave, having been caught up in the bombing raid on the Café de Paris where she had been dancing with her current lover, whilst he had lost his legs in the gun battle between his Spitfire and a German Messerschmitt.

Now he was a patient at the famous Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead under the care of the pioneering plastic surgeon Mr Archibald McIndoe, whilst Dulcie worked in a munitions factory and lodged at number 13, Article Row in Holborn, where she lived with the owner of the house, Mrs Olive Robbins, a widow, and her daughter, Tilly, who worked in the Lady Almoner’s office at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Two other girls also rented rooms: Sally, a Liverpudlian nurse who worked at Bart’s, and Agnes, a mouse of a girl who worked in the ticket office at Chancery Lane underground.

In the way that things were now happening during wartime David knew that those girls and the house on Article Row had become Dulcie’s mainstay and he also knew that communities, friendships and relationships destroyed by the war were reformed by its survivors. He also knew Article Row well, as it was very close to the Inns of Court where he had lived and worked before the war and where he intended to return once he left hospital.

‘And as for Wilder …’ Dulcie, aggrieved, was still talking and David realised he had to pay attention. ‘Well, I had a thing or two to say to him, I can tell you, especially after he asked Edith to come dancing with us next week.’

‘London is full of newly arrived Americans from what I’ve heard, Dulcie, why don’t you find yourself one who will treat you better than this Wilder chap?’ David suggested. He knew that she had been dating the American pilot, who had originally come over to England to join the Eagles unit of Americans attached to the RAF, for quite some time. He had never met him, of course, but from the way Dulcie talked about him and his wandering eye, David doubted he would like him very much if he did, and he certainly didn’t approve of the casual, not to say occasionally openly unkind, way in which he treated Dulcie.

‘What?’ Dulcie looked outraged. ‘Give him up and let Edith think she’s won and that Wilder prefers her to me? Never.’ Her response was determined. ‘Edith only wants him because she wants to get one up on me. I said as much to our brother, Rick, when he came home on leave from the desert and he insisted on taking me and Edith to see Mum and Dad.’

‘So your mother has been reunited with Edith, then?’ David said as the hot sun beat down on his face whilst Dulcie dabbed her cheeks with powder.

‘Oh yes,’ Dulcie said, pausing momentarily and looking over her gold compact. ‘Mum was all over her, carrying on as you’d expect. I was completely ignored for the whole afternoon; nobody would have known that it was thanks to me that they’d been reunited. I have the feeling that Edith would have been just as happy to leave her own family in the dark.’

‘What makes you say that?’ David asked, always interested in Dulcie’s chaotic lifestyle.

‘Well, it stands to reason, never once did Mum or Dad ask Edith why she hadn’t made a bit of an effort to find out where they lived after they left London at the beginning of the Blitz.’

‘Well, Edith knew where you lived, surely she could have contacted you?’

‘Exactly,’ said Dulcie with an emphatic nod of her head. ‘That’s precisely what I said, but no, it was all “how wonderful” to see her and Mum called it “a miracle” but did I get one word of gratitude? Not likely! And to think if I hadn’t seen her in the chorus line review they’d still be thinking she was a goner now.’

David’s heart went out to Dulcie knowing, first-hand, what her younger sister was like. He’d met her briefly when she came down to East Grinstead when Dulcie was on one of her regular visits. If he remembered correctly, Edith was a hard-faced, shallow little madam if ever there was one, he thought, concerned only with herself, and from what he could see nowhere near as pretty as Dulcie. He recalled that Edith had soon lost interest in him and the other men on the ward when she realised how badly injured they were.

‘As for letting another American serviceman take me out – and don’t think I haven’t been asked because I have. Many a time I’ve been invited out by some of those that have finally decided to join us in the war.’ Dulcie gave a small, proud toss of her head, seemingly satisfied that she had been stopped in the middle of the street by the new influx of Americans who had been arriving since last January and had become Briton’s active allies since the December bombing of Pearl Harbor.

‘If I was to see anybody else in uniform I think it would have to be one of them Poles, not another American.’ David watched her for a moment. Dulcie talked in a matter-of-fact way about everything, even her love life, which, he thought, was probably more exciting in her own mind than it ever was in real life – not that she didn’t have a wonderful time when she dressed to the nines and went out on the town dancing, but somehow there seemed a vulnerability in Dulcie that he was sure nobody else could see.

‘You’re too good for Wilder, Dulcie, let your sister have him and good riddance to the pair of them.’ David hadn’t intended speaking the words out loud but when he saw the surprised expression on Dulcie’s expertly made-up face he realised that he had done just that.

‘What! Let her have him? She’d crow till the cows came home and no mistake. She’d be on his arm before it had a chance to get cold, that one.’

‘Would that be so awful?’ David felt really sorry for her now. She didn’t deserve this treatment after all she had done for her sister, reuniting her with her family.

‘You bet your sweet potato it would,’ Dulcie said in an outraged tone. ‘She would make it her business to tell everybody she knows that Wilder dropped me for her and that ain’t gonna happen. You’d hear the crowing halfway over London.’

‘Well, you know best, Dulcie,’ David said with a hint of resignation, as he didn’t like to see her so upset like this.

‘And you’ll never guess what she did last week. She only sent Wilder a free ticket for her new show. Just the one ticket, mind, and Wilder is so trusting he probably thought she’d forgotten to send me one. I said to him, when I saw it fall out of his pocket, that she was trying to get her claws into him and he wanted to beware of her tricks to get him alone.’

‘Good for you,’ said David, realising how naïve Dulcie really was, now he’d been privileged enough to see beneath her brittle exterior. ‘What did you do after that?’ Just listening to Dulcie somehow eased the nagging, ever-present pain in his phantom lower legs. Other people might accuse her of being self-obsessed and even sometimes uncaring but David welcomed the fact that she didn’t make any emotional allowances for him, or treat him as though a part of his brain had been damaged along with his legs.

‘I ripped the ticket into a hundred pieces, that’s what I did.’ Her expression was one of relish, he noted, and then suddenly it changed to a frown when she looked up into the pale blue sky and announced, ‘That sun’s going to be in my eyes any minute now, here, let me turn you round so I can see you properly.’ Dulcie got up from the wooden bench and flipped David’s brake with her foot so she could get a better view of him.

‘Has that mother of yours been in to see you recently?’

David gave a little half-laugh. Nobody else would ask something as directly as Dulcie did, nor with such candour. ‘No, I told her not to come. What’s the point? We can’t agree on anything. She can’t forgive me for not giving her a grandson and heir when it was still within my power to do so.’

‘She can’t hold it against you now, David.’ Dulcie was horrified.

‘You don’t know my mother,’ he said grimly. ‘Furthermore, I cannot forgive her for caring more about the title than she does about her own flesh and blood.’

‘Your mother sounds every bit as stuck-up as your wife Lydia was, if you don’t mind me saying. Serves them both right that neither of them got what they wanted in the end.’

David knew that Dulcie didn’t mean to sound unkind. She was just upset on his behalf, and as she turned his wheelchair around he could hear the regret in her voice. At least she was honest in her emotions, he thought, unlike his mother and his late wife.

As the summer sun rose in the sky and cast its scorching rays at the hottest time of the day, Dulcie asked David if he would prefer to go inside and he agreed. He didn’t want to add sunstroke to his list of ailments, he laughed. It didn’t take Dulcie long to settle him into the chair at the side of his bed; she prided herself at getting quite good at the exercise and was pleased that David had every faith in her ability to move him from his wheelchair to the chair or bed. Nobody had ever trusted her that much before.

Once he was settled she poured him a glass of water and unconsciously examined her perfect oval talons for any sign of breakage, her eyes widening when she said suddenly, continuing their earlier conversation as if she’d never had an interruption, ‘I told her straight, I said, “Edith, you lay one paw on my Wilder and there will be trouble,” and she got the gist.’

‘And will she?’ David looked thoroughly amused. ‘Lay her paws on him, I mean.’

‘She wouldn’t dare, I’d scratch her eyes out.’ Dulcie let his obvious cynicism sail over her perfectly curled blonde head.

‘I think you would, too.’ David could hold in his mirth no longer and laughed aloud. ‘Only someone as beautiful as you could say a thing like that and make it sound inevitable, Dulcie. You are such a tonic.’

‘Why thank you, kind sir, I do agree.’ She, too, laughed now. ‘Oh, you are such a good friend, David,’ she said eventually, ‘but you’ve delighted me long enough and I must be off.’ She gathered her bag and gloves from the bed. ‘I’ll see you soon, don’t go home without letting me know what day, I don’t want to waste my time coming all the way down here to see just anybody.’

‘Heaven forfend, Dulcie.’ David’s remark was laced with a tinge of irony but it was lost on her as she bent and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

‘What would I do without you to pour my heart out to, David? Now, have you got Olive’s address?’

‘You gave it to me earlier,’ David smiled, nodding to the piece of paper as Dulcie fussed around the bed, uncharacteristically straightening the cover where she had been sitting – he knew she wouldn’t want people to think she was a slut and couldn’t tidy up after herself.

David nodded, but before he could say anything Dulcie, with swaying hips and the clip-clip heels of her ankle-band peep-toed shoes, moved towards the door at the end of the nightingale ward. When she reached it she turned and blew him a kiss and waved.

‘Toodle-oo for now,’ she mouthed, not waiting to see David raise his one good arm and wave back.




THREE


In the woods beyond the hospital, one of Dulcie’s fellow lodgers, Sally, was walking with her fiancé, New Zealander George Laidlaw. Sally’s two-year-old half-sister, Alice, was between them as, securely, they each held one of her hands.

Sally and George had originally met when she had left Liverpool to work as a nurse at Bart’s hospital in London where George had been training as a registrar. George was now working in East Grinstead under Archibald McIndoe. When the war was finally over they planned to marry and live in New Zealand close to George’s parents.

‘Have you had no word yet from Callum about us adopting Alice when we get married?’ asked George over the child’s head.

‘Not yet,’ Sally answered. ‘I’m not sure where his ship is and it may be difficult to get post to him. But I don’t think he’ll object, he wants what’s best for her, that he brought her straight to me when her parents were killed goes to prove it.’ A small shadow crossed Sally’s face. She had been adamant she would have nothing to do with her orphaned half-sister when Callum brought her late that night. After all, it was Callum’s sister, Morag, who had been her best friend before betraying her in the worst possible way by marrying Sally’s father within months of his wife’s death and had then become pregnant with Alice.

It had come as a great shock and Sally, usually so caring, was determined that Alice should be handed over to the authorities and put into a children’s home. Olive, her wonderful landlady, had taken over in that gentle way she had and before she knew what had happened for sure, Sally discovered the little girl had found a place in her heart.

Now she couldn’t envisage a life without her any more than she could imagine one without her darling, steady and caring George, whom she loved so very much. It seemed laughable that she had once had a youthful crush on Callum, who’d been a school teacher before joining the Royal Navy, imagining herself in love with him.

‘Swing!’ Alice commanded firmly, bringing Sally out of her reverie and causing the two adults to exchange understanding looks before obliging the toddler and lifting her off her feet in a swinging motion that had her laughing with innocent delight before demanding, ‘More, Georgie, more …’

Georgie was her own special name for George and it never failed to touch Sally’s heart to see how much the little girl adored him and how very much she was adored in return.

‘Every day she reminds me more of Morag,’ Sally told him as they strolled through the leafy wood and was quite surprised when he said, ‘She has your mannerisms.’ She had never imagined the child had watched her so closely as to pick up her ways and those of the other girls back in Article Row, where she also loved trotting around in Olive’s heels ‘helping her’ around the house. Sally knew that one day she would tell Alice the story of her parents and her loving home. She was determined now that the child would know the security and happiness of that kind of secure home life.

In Hyde Park another member of the household at number 13 was also enjoying the July sunshine. Tilly, Olive’s eighteen-year-old daughter, was sitting on the grass with her head in her American boyfriend Drew’s lap, whilst she read the newspaper article that carried his by-line.

‘Oh, Drew, it’s sooo good,’ she exclaimed when she had finished. ‘I do wish you’d let me read your book though.’

‘It’s our book,’ he told her, ‘but I don’t want you to read it until it’s finished. You know that,’ Drew reminded her, as he had done every time she begged him to let her read the book he’d started writing shortly after his arrival in London after the beginning of the war. But he softened his refusal with a tender smile and Tilly smiled back.

‘I can’t wait for you to finish and for it to be published. I think it should be published now.’

‘It won’t be finished until the war is over,’ said Drew, ‘and besides, there isn’t any paper to publish new books at the moment.’

‘That’s so true,’ Tilly said with a tinge of regret. ‘Like so much else,’ she mused as the country prepared to enter its fourth year of the war in September. ‘You could get it published if you took it back home to America. Your father owns a newspaper and publishing group after all.’

Immediately Drew sighed and then took hold of both Tilly’s hands, gently pulling her upright so they could face each other.

‘You know I can’t do that, Tilly,’ he said firmly. ‘My father wants only one thing from me and that is to step into his shoes and take over the business – to live the life he wants me to live and not the life I want to live.’ With you, he thought silently.

‘There’s nothing I want more than for you to be here with me, you know that, Drew, but I can’t help feeling guilty sometimes. Your family, especially your mother, must miss you so much.’

Drew sighed again. He knew that he’d never be able to make Tilly understand how different his family values were to those of her own. Tilly might be an only child, but Olive had given her far more love and a happier, more secure childhood than he’d had from his parents and his sisters too. There was a coldness that came ultimately from his father and it affected everything he grasped in his icy, domineeringly cruel embrace in the same way as the warmth that came from Olive’s love for her daughter reached out to all around her.

‘They might miss the person they want me to be, a figment of my father’s imagination,’ said Drew, ‘but that person isn’t me, Tilly.’ He looked away for a moment and then turned to her again, his eyes red-rimmed as if he was stemming unshed tears. ‘Please believe me when I tell you, honey, that I have spent the happiest days of my life here with you and your family.’

Tilly gave him a look of adoring love, although as her mother had brought her up to be considerate to others she felt compelled to say, ‘America is your home though, Drew, and seeing so many of your fellow countrymen over here since America joined the war must make you feel so homesick. I know it would make me feel unsettled.’

It was true, Drew thought as he paused for thought, seeing so many young Americans filling London’s streets had caused him some sharp pangs of patriotism and pride in his country and his fellow man, and as he and Tilly had vowed to always be honest with one another he knew that it would be an insult to Tilly’s intelligence to deny ever missing America.

‘Yes, it does,’ he admitted, ‘and yes, there are any number of things that I love and miss about my homeland, but nowhere near as many as I love and would miss about you if we were to be parted. England is your home and I hope it will one day be mine too. You are my home. You are my life and you always will be. Always.’

‘Oh, Drew,’ was all Tilly could say before he took her in his arms.

It wasn’t the done thing to kiss publicly in the street, but right now it seemed the most natural thing in the world, and for every disapproving look they received there were many more indulgent smiles from passers-by. It was wartime after all and who could blame a young couple who were so obviously in love for wanting to share every kiss they could?

A while later Drew told her softly, ‘I don’t feel I am making a sacrifice or that I would secretly prefer it if we made our home in the States. The truth is …’ He looked into the distance, across the park and sighed. ‘The truth is that by being here with you I feel like I’ve escaped from something and someone I was afraid I might have become. I’m a writer. I knew that deep down before I knew what it really meant. Nobody back home understands that.’

Again, that sense of fairness instilled into Tilly by her mother had her playing devil’s advocate in support of Drew’s absent family. ‘But surely once they see how important it is to you?’

‘No, Tilly. That will never happen. My family are different to you, they live by a different code of ethics than the ones you know. Money, and the power it brings, is what means the most to them. My father thinks he can buy anything or anybody and he usually does.’

Hearing the sadness, even despair, in Drew’s voice, Tilly was reluctant to press him any further. They had talked before on many occasions of his family situation, and the wishes of his father with regard to Drew’s own future.

‘London is where my book is set,’ Drew said as if she didn’t already know. ‘It is peopled by Londoners I have met and talked to all through the war … It’s where you are.’ He pulled her close to him, his heart thumping heavily, and he saw the way she looked at him, her love for him so openly and honestly on display. He knew that Tilly wasn’t the kind of girl to play games with a man she loved, and if that made her feel vulnerable it also made him more protective of her, he acknowledged as he cupped her face to kiss her.

Tilly didn’t object to his public show of love. Why should she? She loved being kissed by Drew and fervently wished they did more than just kiss, but Drew was insistent that they did not cross the line her mother had drawn. And they weren’t the only couple taking advantage of the warm sunny afternoon after the disappointment of the Whitsun Bank Holiday earlier in the year and Hyde Park was full of people out to enjoy themselves despite the war.

‘I can’t think straight when you kiss me like that,’ Tilly giggled when he finally released her, ‘and you know it. I just wish …’ All the longing in her passionate nature was there in her voice as well as the look she was giving him whilst Drew’s heart slammed in his ribs.

‘It is tempting and would be so easy for us to go back to my lodgings right now … And then I could truly make you mine forever.’ He wasn’t going to do that though and not just because her mother wouldn’t approve. He had his own sense of honour and he had his love for Tilly. Their wedding wasn’t going to be a rushed event with the eyes of the guests wondering if their first child would be born ‘early’. ‘I know what you wish, but our love for each other is something we will have all our lives, Tilly. I, too, want us to be together as husband and wife and we shall be. Your mom just wants to protect you and make sure I don’t take advantage, that’s all.’

‘I know that,’ Tilly was forced to concede, loving him even more if that was possible.

‘It won’t be long until you’re twenty-one and your mom will have no say in the matter then.’

‘She did say we could be married in the June before my twenty-first birthday. It feels like a lifetime away,’ Tilly groaned. ‘Do you think we will still be at war then, Drew?’

As she stepped off the train at Blackfriars and crossed the busy road, ominous dark clouds were low in the sky. Dulcie raised the collar of her belted herringbone coat and fixed her black felt sailor-style hat with a rhinestone pin, securing it through the upturned brim in such a way as to show off her beauty to its best advantage. She patted the higher left side of the hat to a jaunty angle over her shiny blonde curls. With the black leather clutch bag firmly under her arm she raised her chin and made her way to the bus stop where she would catch her bus to Holborn.

If she was lucky she would be in time to join Tilly and Olive, who were going to the pictures to see the Three Stooges. After a full week in the munitions factory she felt she deserved a good laugh; the film was on at the Rimini and she had been dying to see it. Although Olive would probably want to go and see the new Greer Garson film, Mrs Miniver. However, Dulcie had to admit that even though Walter Pidgeon was easy on the eye, she’d seen enough of bomb-damaged London streets to last her a lifetime.

Wilder, as was usual lately, was on flying duty this evening and she had nothing better to do. She was walking along Queen Victoria Street still in view of Blackfriars railway station when a flash of someone familiar caught her eye. But just as quickly she was gone again. For a moment, Dulcie thought she had caught sight of her sister, Edith, heading towards the train station carrying a suitcase.

How ridiculous.

Smiling to herself, Dulcie realised that she might be tired after all. Fancy imagining a thing like that, she thought, straining to catch another glimpse through the crowds, especially when she knew well enough that their Edith had just landed the part of leading lady in the West End show Lucky Girl. It was the kind of show Edith had dreamed of playing a starring role in all her life. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go from understudy to star as the original leading lady had gone down with chicken pox. So Dulcie couldn’t see her sister hopping on a train with her suitcase packed and miss the best role of her career so far.

Yet as Dulcie zigzagged between the horse-drawn carts and slow-moving rush-hour traffic she saw the girl again. In astonishment Dulcie stopped dead in the middle of the road and was almost run down by a trolley bus.

The dipping sun caught the glint of her sister’s unmistakeable titian curls as the familiar beaver-lamb box jacket swung around Edith’s inimitable snake-slim hips. She was carrying the dark brown cardboard suitcase that had once belonged to their father and was hurrying towards Blackfriars station. Dulcie lost sight of her momentarily as the crowd surged forth. But as it dispersed there were only two people left on the pavement, their lips glued together in a passionate kiss, and she was right – one of them definitely was Edith.

Hurrying to cross the road towards her younger sister, Dulcie wanted to know what Edith was playing at, seeing as her name was all over the front of the theatre with ‘sold out’ plastered right across it. Why was she carrying a suitcase? She had a show to do that evening. And that was when Dulcie saw who Edith was kissing.

For a long, painful moment her heart seemed to ricochet against her ribcage. She recognised the leather flying jacket with the American wings on the sleeve and she knew for certain that the man kissing Edith so passionately and so blatantly in the middle of the street was none other than Wilder.

Dulcie’s mouth dried and her heart sank to her shoes. Edith had done some unpleasant things in her time but even Dulcie wouldn’t have suspected her sister of something as callous as this betrayal. How could she be so cruel as to steal her man? But as Dulcie’s temper rose she was able to grasp that if her sister could be so heartless as to allow their parents to believe she was dead, she was capable of anything. Dulcie’s teeth clamped so tightly together it made her head ache and she knew that if she could possibly get her hands on the hennaed head of her deceitful sister right now there was no telling what she might do.

However, she was spared the chance as the couple moved towards the entrance of the railway station. Edith and Wilder seemed blind to those around them. If Dulcie hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she doubted she would have believed her sister could act so wantonly in the middle of the street. She had been all but eating Wilder alive and he was doing nothing to stop her. Although, Dulcie realised with a sickening lurch, him being a red-blooded male he wouldn’t resist, would he? In fact from what she could see, he was actively encouraging Edith’s scandalous intimacy and taking part with as much enthusiasm! But she didn’t have time to confront them before they suddenly parted and hurried inside the train station.

Angry beyond reason, Dulcie only just stopped herself from pursuing them, understanding her pride wouldn’t allow such a thing, and turning now, she hurried so quickly down the road that her ankle strap snapped.

What did she expect, she fumed, her face ablaze with indignation as she scraped her shoe along the pavement, nothing was any good these days. Shoddy shoes. Shoddy boyfriends and even shoddier sisters!

The brazen hussy could never keep her hands to herself, Dulcie silently raged, trying to ignore the curious stares of passers-by, knowing Edith always wanted what she had and thought nothing of taking whatever she fancied without asking. In fact, thought Dulcie as the acid bile rose to her throat, the more she liked something – or someone – the more Edith wanted it. It was like an obsession. But Dulcie also knew that when Edith had taken her fill she would discard Wilder like one of her pretty blouses. Well, she thought grimly, when he came scuttling back with his tail between his legs she would damn well chop it off!




FOUR


Angry, salty tears coursed down Dulcie’s cheeks making her mascara run and blurring her vision. She knew she couldn’t possibly get on a bus looking such a sight, and then a thunderclap broke the clouds and the pewter sky released great splashes of rain onto her ashen face, soaking her beautifully styled hair. At any other time she would have been mortified at being seen in such a chaotic state. But what did it matter now? How could her sister be so brazen, she thought as she hurried to the shelter of the bus stop to gather her thoughts and retreat from this deluge. How could Wilder be so callous?

‘Excuse me, ma’am, would you like to share my umbrella to cover your golden curls?’

Dulcie only just stopped herself from telling the owner of the polite American accent where he could put his umbrella. She’d had enough of Americans and wasn’t in the habit of being picked up in the street.

If he was really interested in her, he could catch her in a West-End dancehall every fourth weekend, when she had time off from the munitions factory and her golden curls were temporarily released from the turbaned headscarf they were forced to wear to protect their hair from being caught in the powerful machines.

Lifting her eyes to tell him in no uncertain terms where he could go, Dulcie was amazed to see the most gorgeous silver-blue eyes she had seen for a long time. Quickly re-thinking the angry retort she gave a trembling half-smile and wondered if her mascara had run all the way down her cheeks.

‘Are you okay, ma’am? You look upset.’

‘Thank you for asking,’ Dulcie answered, noticing the wings on his immaculate uniform and realising he was an airman, and reminding herself that moments earlier she had sworn she would have no more to do with them. But nobody else knew of her self-imposed promise so her volte-face could not be held against her. Anyway, she thought, he didn’t seem like the loud, brash Wilder. This one seemed kind and, by the sound of his softly spoken enquiry, she couldn’t even begin to compare the two men and, Dulcie thought, giving him her most demure smile, she shouldn’t throw all the eggs out because one had gone off. Maybe she shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to give him the cold shoulder after all.

He was being kind and thoughtful offering her the shelter of his umbrella in this torrential downpour as the bus stop was full, and a girl shouldn’t refuse herself a little male attention, especially when she had been so badly deceived by someone she thought she loved – even more so when she had been betrayed by her sister and her boyfriend, she thought, her heart now full of retaliation. A little harmless flirtation with a handsome man did wonders for a girl’s ego.

‘Can I get you anything? I see you’ve snapped your shoe.’ His striking eyes looked so caring and she realised she hadn’t been exactly hospitable to this young man who was a long way from home. She rummaged in her bag under the protection of his umbrella, as much to collect her thoughts as to retrieve the gold compact she had treated herself to when she left Selfridges to work in the higher-paid munitions factory.

‘I tripped on a broken pavement,’ Dulcie simpered. ‘I’ve just had a terrible shock.’

‘I am so sorry. Ma’am, is there anything I can do?’

‘How good of you, I think I just need to sit down for a while,’ Dulcie said as she popped the concealed button on the side of her compact. She gasped when she saw the black rivulets of mascara that had run down her once perfectly made-up face.

‘You look beautiful to me, ma’am,’ said the young airman. ‘In fact I don’t think I’ve seen a better-looking woman since I got over here a month ago.’

‘Flatterer.’ Dulcie could feel the delicious warmth only a really good compliment could bring, and wondered how he could say such a thing when she now had panda eyes, and long white tracks where her tears had smudged her pan-stick foundation. ‘I looked perfect until …’ She paused. She had only just met this man, she wasn’t going to pour her heart out on the street, and without any hint of self-consciousness or false modesty she dabbed at the dark track lines.

The amused airman, standing so close, still holding the umbrella over her head, smiled as she expertly applied a slick of vermilion lipstick to her bee-stung lips. After pressing them together, revelling in his complete attention, Dulcie turned to the airman and pouted in the same way she used to do when she worked the busiest beauty counter in Selfridges. Without warning the airman took her actions as an open invitation, and he kissed her full on her ruby-red lips. When he let her go Dulcie gasped, completely taken aback.

‘How dare you!’ she exclaimed, secretly delighted.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but you are so irresistible, I couldn’t help myself.’ He then went red to the tips of his ears and gave her a bashful smile. Dulcie knew she couldn’t be angry with him.

‘You had no right to steal a kiss from me like that,’ she smiled coquettishly. ‘You saucy devil … just you wait to be invited next time.’

‘I am so sorry, ma’am; I don’t know what came over me.’ Then they both laughed, and for a moment Dulcie forgot that her sister had just run off with her man.

‘Would you like to go for a drink?’ asked the airman. ‘You look like you could do with one.’

‘It’s that obvious,’ Dulcie said, remembering again. And then, perhaps as a gesture of retaliation for what Edith had done, she decided that two could play at that game. ‘I’d be delighted,’ she said as she took the arm he offered, helping her across the road to the little pub opposite the train station. Once inside, much to her embarrassment, he removed her shoe and then the offending strap leaving just a sling-back and the front peep toe.

‘It looks great,’ said Dulcie, ‘but what about the other – they are now odd.’

‘May I?’ he asked as he removed her other shoe and as Dulcie nodded her consent he took a penknife from his trouser pocket and sliced off the other ankle strap. ‘There,’ he said, satisfied with his wonderful handiwork. ‘They’re both the same again now.’

‘Thank you,’ Dulcie said, slipping the straps into her clutch bag. ‘I suppose Olive will soon find a use for these.’

The airman laughed as he went to the bar and got them both a drink. A young Tommie sitting in the corner with his pals gave Dulcie a withering look as if to ask if Englishmen weren’t good enough for the likes of her.

Dulcie turned her attention to the posters on the wall advertising Dobie’s Four Square cigarettes and the smily face in the froth of a glass of milk stout; she didn’t want any trouble and she knew that some British men were very touchy about ‘their’ girls fraternising with American servicemen and had all sorts of unattractive names for them. But she wasn’t one of them. She was just upset and being helped by a kindly airman. After her drink she was going straight back home.

After finishing her third port and lemon Dulcie realised she wasn’t so angry now and she certainly didn’t want to scream any more. Feeling very mellow indeed, she told the airman all about her sister and her boyfriend. She hadn’t meant to tell him – she didn’t want to tell anybody, sensing that in some way it might have been her fault for keeping Wilder at arm’s length, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue somewhat.

However, her new beau reassured her that Wilder’s infidelity couldn’t possibly be her fault, she couldn’t be blamed for picking the bad apple in the barrel, and assured her that all American servicemen were not all like that at all.

‘Another drink?’ the airman asked and Dulcie nodded, feeling cordially tipsy, so much so that when the piano player struck up a popular tune she joined in with all the enthusiasm of a practised entertainer. She would show them that her voice was as good as their Edith’s.

The bar was crowded and the airman had been gone a while. Long enough for Dulcie to gather her thoughts.

Edith, it was true, had a better voice and was more popular, it had to be said – no wonder she had taken her sweetheart, Dulcie thought, knowing he was the gift that she was never going to get any enjoyment from. And, whereas Edith never felt she had to wait her turn or be grateful for cast-offs, Dulcie was used to being second-best. And it was the insecurity of seeing her younger sister being fussed and preened over from the moment she was born that made her what she was today, Dulcie was sure.

‘You were dreaming with your eyes half-closed there, honey,’ the airman said as he brought more drinks to the table. Dulcie wondered if she’d had enough but he soon managed to persuade her that she’d had a shock, and drinking port and lemon was good for shocks, he laughed.

The last drink seemed to disappear much quicker than the others, Dulcie noticed, and dragging her thoughts from the doldrums she once more joined in with the rousing chorus of songs.

‘Bless ’em all, bless ’em all, the long and the short and the tall …’ Dulcie swayed along with everybody else and very soon the room began to swim.

‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ said the airman, whose name she hadn’t yet asked for. Dulcie nodded and scrambled to the door for fresh air.

‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ she said, holding up her hand to keep him at bay in case she deposited the alcoholic contents of her empty stomach onto the pavement. After a few huge gulps of balmy summer air she was able to nod to let him know she was better now.

‘Do you want to go back inside?’ he asked and Dulcie gently shook her head. Instead, she allowed herself to be escorted with his protective arm around her tiny waist towards Article Row.

‘Isn’t it a beautiful night?’ he asked, supporting her as she leaned a very sleepy head on his shoulder. It was lovely, Dulcie thought, taking in the sweet scent of parkland grass.

‘C’est la vie,’ she said lazily, having read the phrase in a magazine. She had been dying to try it out even if it didn’t fit the occasion, as she slipped her hand around his slim hips to huddle close. If Wilder didn’t appreciate her then there were plenty of men who did.

They were halfway down Keynes Road, sauntering alongside each other without a care in the world, when the warning banshee wail of the air raid began. Dulcie giggled, she knew her way around the area, and she knew there was an air-raid shelter in the park.

‘Here,’ she said, her voice slurred, ‘let’s cut through here.’ She took his hand and pulled him towards the low coil of barbed wire, realising that under ordinary circumstances she would never have dared do this with a stranger. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances and he wasn’t a stranger now.

‘I know where the shelter is,’ she quipped, noticing all the railings had been taken away to help build war planes and the park was quite open except for the low roll of spiked wire. Then to her complete surprise and obvious delight she felt his strong hands lift her up with ease, and the handsome airman whose name she hadn’t even asked carried her over it.

‘That was close, ma’am,’ he said, taking off his jacket and laying it on the grimy wooden bench that went along the wall of the empty air-raid shelter. Dulcie was about to protest when she remembered that she was wearing her best skirt and didn’t fancy ruining it on a grimy seat so instead she smiled and decided to make herself comfy for the duration of the raid.

‘Can we have less of the “ma’am” please, Soldier.’ Dulcie giggled again. ‘You make me sound like Methuselah’s mother.’ She paused and gave a thoughtful pout. ‘Well, his sister at least.’ Then she laughed, really laughed as if she had heard something so delightful. He made her feel good, this handsome GI, and ever so glad she’d met him.

‘I don’t know who this Methuselah guy is. Ma’am. but …’

‘Dulcie,’ she sighed. ‘My name is Dulcie.’ She gave another throaty laugh and she rocked a little as he enfolded her in his arms whilst she tried focus on his handsome features. He was so close now she could smell the clean fresh tang of his cologne.

‘Well, Dulcie, that’s some raunchy laugh you got there if you don’t mind my saying …’

‘Not at all,’ Dulcie all but whispered. ‘And you are?’ She noticed a delicious, unexpected warmth rise to certain parts of her body, making her feel decadent. She had never felt this way before. Not even with Wilder. He was closer now. The nearer he got the more her desire soared. And the more she craved his lips on hers. Maybe this was what they meant when they talked about their finest hour. Another giggle was only a whisper away and she watched him from under her lashes.

‘Well, Dulcie.’ His voice was low, intimate, with a little catch to it, and he never took his eyes from her. ‘My name’s Reece Redgrave the third …’

‘The third?’ Dulcie drawled and he told her yes in his deep Southern accent and Dulcie’s heart melted right there. He felt so powerful holding her like that, tanned and muscled in all the right places, and he was so polite: soothing her nerves, making her feel so special, unlike Wilder … Dulcie didn’t want to think of Wilder’s treachery now.

She wanted to forget the death and destruction going on around them and, if she was honest, even forget poor, injured, incapacitated David who flashed through her thoughts momentarily. What kind of a life would he have now? Who would have thought it? Fit and agile one minute … Then … But those thoughts were for another time. Now she needed strong arms around her to feel safe and above all she wanted, no, needed, to be desired.

Wilder never paid her the compliments that Reece was doing now. He never made her feel like a red-blooded woman the way Reece did. And if she was perfectly honest she wanted Reece to … Well, she couldn’t put into words what she wanted him to do, not even to herself.

Her heart, beating faster now, caused her breath to come in small, shallow pants as she pushed the fallen fringe from her eyes with both hands and crossed her legs, allowing her shoe to dangle from her red-painted toes, enjoying his lingering, open appreciation of her body.

‘So, Reece Redgrave the third.’ Dulcie’s voice came in short, whispering gasps. ‘Why don’t you sit here next to me.’ She tapped the wooden bench with her long red fingernails after making herself comfortable on Reece’s uniform jacket and in no time at all he was sitting so close to her she could feel every muscled curve of his body.

When he nuzzled her ear Dulcie giggled as the delicious ripples of pleasure woke up parts of her body she didn’t know existed before and as Reece trailed feathery butterfly kisses on her neck and décolletage, causing her to throw her head back in delicious abandonment, ignoring the swimming sensation in her head. Dulcie knew what was going to happen next and she savoured the anticipation as his lips sought hers.

Live for today, she thought lazily. Live for the moment. Tomorrow may never come. Suddenly Reece Redgrave was kissing her with an urgency and passion that made her head spin. Dulcie was caught up in a haze of desire so enjoyable she never wanted it to stop.

The clean, fresh tang of his cologne had her wanting more … much more … A small, involuntary groan escaped her lips as his kisses rained across her neck, her eyes, and her lips. They were breathing in shallow, panting unison now, and she did nothing to stop Reece as ricochets of delight exploded through her body.

Feeling reckless and wildly excited Dulcie could not get enough of Reece Redgrave the third. Tonight was the night she was going to lose her virginity! The alcohol she had consumed gave her an air of indestructibility. Nothing mattered now. She didn’t care one iota. They were alone in the shelter; obviously the earlier deluge had kept people away. It was so right.

‘Kiss me … Kiss me …’ Her voice came in small guttural bursts and she found it hard to breathe. Arching her back Dulcie accepted his exploring hands as they roamed every inch of her yielding body. She knew she had never let Wilder go so far … never let any man … go this far …

‘You sure are beautiful, Dulcie …’ Reece was panting now, his hands feverishly pushing up the tight, pencil-slim skirt and gently pushing his fingers beneath the rim of her silk cami-knickers, pulling at her suspenders and stroking the warm silken flesh that peeped over her stocking tops.

‘I never … thought … it would be … this easy.’ His words were coming in short sharp gasps now and it took a moment for their meaning to sink into the fog.

Easy?

All yearning disappeared suddenly, as the word sank into the craving miasma … The realisation hit Dulcie like a slap in the face.

Easy?

He was intimating that she was no better than the ‘Piccadilly commandos’ who plied their trade in Soho! How could he? He had been so polite. So charming and so, so convincing.

Dulcie opened her eyes and saw him, lost in the grip of passion, oblivious to anything around him. The glazed expression of his once-beautiful eyes told her that he wasn’t seeing her at all. She could have been anybody.

Lifting her head, feeling suddenly soiled, Dulcie looked at Reece, lost in the same trance of ecstasy she had been consumed by just moments before. This isn’t what she wanted any more. They hadn’t even stopped to … to … Oh no, she thought frantically. How could she have been so stupid?

‘Get off me!’ Dulcie cried, pushing him away, but he was too strong for her. All desire was gone now and tears ran down her face. It was futile to try and get him off her. He was too far gone to stop now.

The loud-mouthed, uncouth girls back at the munitions factory who boasted about their nocturnal exploits with American servicemen flashed through her mind. She had scorned them as common, unladylike. But here she was, doing exactly the same thing. Worse, in fact. She’d never heard any of the girls say they had been seduced in an air-raid shelter by a man they had met only minutes before!

‘Get off me!’ She had gone too far, she’d behaved like an alley cat. She hadn’t meant to lead him on … It wasn’t her fault! ‘Leave me alone, leave me … .’ But it was too late, she could tell. And, as inexperienced as she was, Dulcie knew he was spent, as every muscle relaxed on top of her.

The deed, she refused to call it lovemaking, was over in mere moments. It would have taken longer to make a cup of tea, she realised as he got up and fixed his pants and tucked in his shirt without looking at her. It would have taken longer to smoke the cigarette he was now offering her. Then, to her absolute horror, she saw Reece Redgrave slide to his knees and with his head buried in her lap he sobbed like a baby. She didn’t know what to do. She had never seen a man behave like this before. He was saying something, his words barely coherent.

‘I am so sorry, Dulcie, please forgive me, there was nothing I could do … please believe me, Dulcie. I am so, so sorry, I beg of you …’

Dulcie, stunned, dazed, almost without thinking, reached out and stroked his thick black hair before lifting his head to see tears rolling freely down his face. She was surprised when he took her hands, and cupping them in his he kissed them and she could see the pain of shame in his eyes.

‘I couldn’t help myself,’ he said, his eyes looking almost dead now. ‘I just couldn’t stop … I didn’t realise until it was too late that you were a … that it was your first time, too.’

Dulcie looked at him and sighed. How could she face anybody now? Wilder didn’t matter any more, he had shown his true colours and she wasn’t going there again. David … Poor, fractured David … he would be so disgusted if he knew what she had done. She would never be able to look anybody, not even Olive, in the face again.

Quickly, covering herself, trying to tidy herself up, she knew that when Sally and George went away it was plainly obvious what had taken place; the sun had shone from their eyes. Their love oozed from every pore. But this wasn’t love. This was madness. And she had encouraged it. If the truth be known, she had longed for him to make love to her … But for all the wrong reasons.

‘I can’t say sorry enough, I didn’t mean to … to force myself on you. It wasn’t like that, honest it wasn’t.’ For a long, difficult moment Dulcie looked into the face of an inexperienced, frightened young man who, like herself, had been a virgin.

No doubt he was scared of what she would do now, Dulcie thought, and wondering if she would report him to the authorities. But she couldn’t do that knowing she was as much to blame as he was. More so if the truth was known, because she could have stopped him going too far any time, until …

He was a long way from home, she knew. And, given his show of utter remorse now, she doubted there was anybody he would tell. Reece looked at her and said, his voice gruff, hesitant, ‘Back at the base they said English girls were …’ He couldn’t finish telling her of the lies he had been fed from his buddies back at camp, but Dulcie knew what he meant, she had heard the girls in the munitions factory, and for a moment she wanted to … she wanted to … Oh, God, she wanted to tell him it was all right.

But it wasn’t all right. He had been tricked into thinking that English girls were easy. And by the way she had seen some girls acting she could see how some of their American allies would think that, too. It still wasn’t right though, she thought.

Hurriedly she stood and fixed her clothes, smoothed down the creased skirt that had been so immaculately pressed and roughly pushed her damp, tangled hair from her face before moving towards the shelter’s exit. But Reece pulled her back.

‘You can’t go out there yet!’ His eyes were a mixture of distress and apology. ‘The all-clear hasn’t yet sounded. I promise I won’t do anything, please don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘It’s not safe.’

Dulcie edged back into the shelter without saying a word. What a way to remember something that should be forever in your mind as the beautiful first time. Slowly she edged towards the wooden bench and resigned herself to the fact that whether she liked it or not she and Reece were stranded together for the duration. And as she listened to the crump and boom of the battle beyond the air-raid shelter Dulcie likened it to the conflict going on inside her now, and she knew that as soon as the air raid was over she would be out of here so fast, he would never see her again.




FIVE


‘You’re very quiet today, Drew, is there something wrong?’ Tilly asked.

Drew shook his head and smiled but Tilly wasn’t convinced; they were so in love, with an almost uncanny perception of each other’s moods, that she couldn’t help noticing when something was bothering him, even when he didn’t appear to be outwardly worrying. But try as she might she couldn’t get him to tell her what was wrong. She decided to leave it for now and change the subject, as she didn’t want Drew to feel she was pressurising him into telling her something he wished to keep to himself. No matter how much she longed to know.

‘It isn’t looking good for our boys in the desert, is it, Drew?’

‘No, Tilly, it isn’t,’ he replied, watching her make little knots in the long grass she had plucked from the lawn on which they were spending their last evening together. Even though Tilly didn’t yet know this. His heart ached with love for her. But he couldn’t voice the news that his mother was critically ill, which his father had told him this morning when he telephoned to say he had booked Drew on the next flight to Chicago – later this evening.

Drew’s capricious, even half-baked inner fear that Tilly might find someone else if he wasn’t around gnawed at his insides, but he knew he had to remain calm, even relaxed. He knew she loved him with every beat of her heart – whilst he was around.

But loving her as much as he did now was making him feel suddenly insecure. Would she wait for him to come back? He was sure she would. But there were plenty of red-blooded servicemen roaming around London who would jump at the chance of a date with Tilly. He would never voice his fears to her, of course not. She’d be so messed-up. He had to act normally, behave like nothing was wrong. Although he knew Tilly already guessed something.

‘Is Dulcie’s brother still in the desert?’ Drew searched Tilly’s eyes for any flicker of emotion at the mention of her former sweetheart. She nodded slightly and continued to concentrate on the blade of grass she was curling between her short neat fingernails. She didn’t say anything, perhaps heeding the advice that anybody, no matter how innocent-looking, could be eavesdropping and share the information. Drew was well aware that Dulcie’s brother Rick was stationed at Tobruk in Libya, which had fallen to the Germans in June. It had cast a pall of anxiety and dismay over the whole country and he secretly wondered if Tilly was worried about her former flame. It was swell of her to worry; it showed her caring nature. But it didn’t stop him feeling an unfamiliar emotional insecurity.

‘Do you think the enemy will take Cairo as well?’ Tilly whispered, her eyes observing the people around them in the park, and Drew shook his head in answer to her grim question.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He felt Tilly shiver beneath the short-sleeved, thin woollen cardigan, even though the day was still very warm.

‘Sally told us one of the nurses back at Bart’s said that she has a sister who is also a nurse, working out in Cairo.’ Tilly repositioned her head so that it lay comfortably on his lap as she plaited the long grass and tickled his chin with it, then sighing in that beautiful way she had she continued, ‘Sally’s friend was thinking of going out to join her sister, because her letters were full of the fun she was having, and all the parties she’d been invited to,’ Tilly sighed again, ‘but now she’s not so sure. After what’s happened in North Africa she says that nothing would entice her to go over there.’

‘The world is going mad,’ said Drew and then seeing Tilly’s eyes open wide he reassuringly squeezed her hand.

‘Dulcie says that there’s been talk of her sister Edith’s dance troupe being sent out to entertain the troops on one of the ENSA tours. But what if the Germans do take Cairo …?’

‘They haven’t taken it yet,’ Drew said, trying to calm her fears, ‘and knowing what I do about the brave British bulldog spirit I’m sure the Allies will fight to the last man to stop that from happening.’ He was quiet for a moment. Then he said in a hesitant, almost non-committal voice, ‘Has Dulcie heard anything from Rick?’ He watched as Tilly shook her head and looked a little uncomfortable, then Drew smiled and gave her hand another squeeze; he’d put her in a real uncomfortable position and hated himself for being so selfish, thinking only of his own feelings.

‘You mustn’t feel that you can’t mention Rick’s name around me, Tilly.’ He wanted so much for Tilly to understand he was a modern man. He recognised that other men would be just as smitten by her beauty as he was. ‘Just because he used to be sweet on you doesn’t mean you can’t talk about him.’ Drew bent and gently stroked the tip of Tilly’s nose, making her smile. ‘I know I can trust in your love for me – and Rick’s a decent guy.’

‘Oh, Drew, I would never do anything to make you think badly of me, especially …’

‘Nothing could make me feel that way, honey. I like Rick, he’s a nice guy, and you knew him before you knew me, right.’ Drew had almost convinced himself that he wouldn’t be in the least bit anxious if Rick was on his way home whilst he was back in America. ‘I know you love me and I know I can trust in that love. You’re my girl and I’m your man, right?’

‘I could never look at another man who isn’t you, my darling.’ There was a delicious giggle in Tilly’s voice that made Drew feel weak with love for her. How was he going to survive without seeing her every day? But he tried not to dwell on that now.

‘Rick’s fighting for his country and it stands to reason that you’d worry,’ he said, trying to keep his mind focused on the here and now with Tilly – not what would happen tomorrow without her. ‘You wouldn’t be the caring kinda gal I know you are, if you weren’t anxious.’

‘Oh, you are understanding, Drew, it must be terrifying for Dulcie.’ Tilly was overcome with relief that he understood and there were tears in her eyes as she fervently responded, ‘Is it any wonder that I love you.’

She turned, balancing on her elbow, blew him a kiss and said, ‘Everything you say and do proves what a wonderful, special person you are. I am concerned about Rick, and I know Dulcie is too although she tries hard not to show it.’ Tilly wiped away her tears with her hand and Drew bent to try and kiss her fears away once more.

‘I know Rick was laughing off the fighting he would have to do when he was home last,’ he said, his little finger gently outlining her beautiful features.

‘That’s Rick; all jokes and good spirits,’ said Tilly, her voice relaxed as if seeing the scene in her mind’s eye, then her tone changed, revealing her carefully hidden distress. ‘I noticed when he thought nobody was looking he stopped smiling. He looked thinner, too, and …’

‘Battle-hardened,’ Drew suggested, wondering what Tilly would say if he told her how much he envied men like Rick who were doing their bit, and how he felt he was having it easy whilst they were risking their lives.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Tilly agreed, sombre now, knowing the first time she had met Rick she was bowled over by his good looks and easy charm.

In fact she had more than a bit of a crush on him. But that was before she met her darling Drew. Now there was nobody and nothing in her heart except him, even though her love didn’t prevent her having a very natural concern for Rick. She looked up and shielded her eyes from the golden dipping rays of sunshine to see that Drew had commenced writing in his journal, probably recording their time together.

‘How lucky I am to have a man who is so clever as to write such a wonderful book,’ she said, trying to inject a little light into their dark conversation.

‘My greatest achievement is finding you, my darling Tilly.’ Drew smiled and stroked her hair. ‘You fill my life with sunshine every day, no matter what the weather.’ He reached out and touched the ring Tilly wore on a chain around her neck. The one he’d given her the first Christmas they had known one another.

‘Remember what we said to each other about this?’ he asked her, his eyes tender. Tilly nodded; how could she ever forget? They would only break up for good if she sent him his ring back, or if he ever asked her for it.

‘I will never ask you for this ring back,’ Drew said, his words thick, his eyes solemn.

‘And I will never offer it to you,’ Tilly said, her brow puckered in a confused crease. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time, neither one wanting to break this idyllic moment. This precious time they had together was sacrosanct, when nothing and nobody could come between them. Then, all too soon, the keeper was patrolling the park, and one of the only sets of gates that had not yet been requisitioned for the war effort was about to be locked.

‘C’mon. We’ll have to get back.’ Drew’s voice was laced with regret before he bent to kiss her gently on her ever-accepting lips.

‘I know, we’re on fire-watch duty tonight,’ Tilly offered. ‘Not that there are likely to be any bombs tonight, thank goodness, the enemies are too busy fighting overseas.’ She looked pensive. ‘But we mustn’t become complacent; there is talk that Hitler could start bombing again but probably only when he’s finished attacking Russia when winter sets in over there.’

‘You’re right,’ said Drew. ‘No attacking army has been victorious against the Russian winter – as Napoleon Bonaparte learned to his cost.’

‘You are so clever to know that,’ Tilly said, adoration in her eyes.

‘I know, I can’t help it,’ Drew laughed. ‘But come on, we’d better make tracks.’

He was talking about anything he could think of to try to prevent him feeling like the heel he most certainly was, afraid that if there was a moment’s silence between them then he would blurt out the very thing he had been keeping from Tilly all day.

He knew she deserved to be told that he was leaving as soon as he dropped her off home. It was her right to know. But he wasn’t the courageous hero Tilly thought he was. In fact he felt like a spineless rat and not the desert kind like Rick either. Drew was too damned scared to tell the woman he loved that he was going away. And had no idea when he was coming back.

‘Oh, hello, Dulcie, you’re home late,’ Olive said as Dulcie popped her head around the front-room door. ‘I’m glad you’re back safe and sound though, did you manage to get to a shelter?’

Dulcie nodded, unable to say much, and kept the door half-closed, covering herself so as not to alert Olive to her dishevelled clothing and hoping her humiliation didn’t show on her face. She had a splitting headache and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget tonight had ever happened, and she certainly didn’t want to go into the front room where questions might be asked.

‘I was hoping to be able to take a bath, is there any hot water?’

‘Enough for five inches I would say,’ Olive answered, her brows meeting in a troubled frown. ‘Is everything all right, Dulcie?’

‘Fine. Just a bit of a headache,’ Dulcie lied with uncharacteristic calmness. She had a lot to think about and she needed privacy to do it. Thankfully, Olive had the company of Mrs Black from next door and Tilly, who had just come in from fire-watching.

‘I’ll make you a hot cocoa and see if we have something for your headache,’ Olive said, rising from the chair.

‘Maybe later,’ Dulcie said, not wanting any fuss. ‘The bath might do the trick. I won’t be long,’ she managed to add as she closed the door, tears just a blink away as Olive’s kindness touched her heart and made her feel tawdry, whilst Nancy Black’s strident opinion echoed after her.

‘I don’t know as I like that common voice on the wireless,’ Nancy said, sitting on Olive’s settee, wrinkling her flared nostrils like there was a bad smell floating about the room, much to Olive’s chagrin.

‘It’s Wilfred Pickles!’ Olive exclaimed, retrieving the newspaper, which Nancy had borrowed and brought back two days late. This was becoming a regular occurrence, and even though Olive didn’t mind lending her the newspaper, she did object to not getting it back when the news was still fresh, instead of being fit for nothing except tomorrow’s chip wrapper; especially when Nancy took half of it to polish her windows and Olive had to remind her who it actually belonged to.

‘It comes to something when the news has to be read in a Yorkshire accent,’ Nancy continued. ‘Have all the true Englishmen gone to fight? That’s what I want to know.’

‘I quite like a Yorkshire accent, myself,’ Olive replied, ‘and of course he is a true Englishman.’ She folded the paper to give her hands something to do to stave off the nervous energy Nancy always seemed to encourage in her and, then, putting the paper on the arm of the chair she continued, ‘I told you, he’s a very fine actor, is Wilfred Pickles. I think he’s got a lovely soothing voice and he’s very handsome.’ She gave an emphatic nod of her head and just stopped short of telling Nancy that she was being absurd.

‘It’s not right,’ Nancy began, but she was cut off mid-sentence.

‘Oh, I dunno.’ Tilly imitated the common slang, knowing it irked Nancy, cautiously splaying her fingers down the inside leg of her last pair of nylons that Drew had given her to examine it for ladders. ‘Mum’s right, his voice is very gentle on the old nerves, I must say.’ Olive smiled at her daughter whilst Nancy sniffed her disregard, her mouth set in a straight line.

‘Is she sickening for something?’ Nancy asked Olive and it took all of Tilly’s resolve to stop herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. ‘It just doesn’t seem right somehow,’ Nancy continued, ‘unpatriotic.’

‘Maybe if the BBC has a word on your behalf, as you’re such an avid listener.’ Tilly couldn’t look at her neighbour in case she gave the game away. Her mother gave her a raised eyebrow, but Tilly could see she too was amused and even more so when she actually joined in.

‘They could get Mr Churchill to do the honours and read the nine o’clock edition if he’s got nothing better to do,’ Olive suggested. Tilly’s lips formed a silent moue of surprise.

‘Well,’ Nancy exclaimed, obviously peeved at their impudence, ‘I’ve got better things I must be getting on with. I haven’t got time to sit around here gossiping all night with you pair of giddy kippers.’ Shrugging her discontent Nancy shuffled out of the room.

‘Don’t let me keep you, Nancy, I’m sure you must be very busy,’ Olive managed to say, only just subduing her laughter until they heard the front door slam.

‘Oh, Mum, you are a one,’ Tillie laughed, hugging her sides as she rolled on the arm of the chair. Olive was glad to see that Tilly was in good spirits; the war seemed to have made her a little too serious than was good for her and she was pleased that Tilly had suggested she might go to the pictures with Dulcie on Saturday night.

‘Well, serves her right, frosty-faced perisher, she …’ Olive stopped herself just in time when the back door opened and Sally came into the room. Then, in a more sober tone, she said, ‘I don’t know what’s got into me lately, I would never have said boo to a goose before the war.’ She was laughing softly as Sally was followed by Dulcie, clad now in her dressing gown as she entered the front room. Tilly was laughing still, glad to see her mother carefree for a change.

‘Are you going to share the joke?’ Dulcie asked, so glad to be home. Her ‘episode’ in the air-raid shelter with Reece Redgrave had been played over and over again in her mind even though she tried to force herself not to think of it; a trick she’d learned years ago when her mother ignored her in favour of Edith, it was her safety mechanism and it worked well usually, but not tonight. The air-raid tryst was something she was going to try her very best to forget. But she had the feeling it was going to be difficult, very difficult indeed.

‘Alice is awake if you want to see her before you eat your supper, Sally,’ Olive said. ‘I put her down for the night but she’s a bit fretful since the air-raid siren went off.’

I know how she feels, Dulcie thought, then remembering the envelope she said to Tilly, ‘This was on the mat in the hall.’ She handed over the letter.

‘It is Drew’s handwriting,’ Tilly said, surprised and pleased all at the same time.

‘He adores you so much he even sends you love letters a couple of hours after he’s seen you,’ Sally chuckled. But their happy chatter faded when there was a volley of impatient-sounding raps on the front door.

‘I’ll go,’ Tilly said but was stopped by her mother who looked a little concerned and hurried to the hall. ‘Wait there, I’ll see to it,’ Olive called over her shoulder.

‘One day Mum will see I’m not a little girl any more and quite able to answer the front door in the blackout,’ Tilly laughed but her amusement was short-lived when she saw Drew standing behind her mother.

‘You’d better go into the corridor,’ Olive told Tilly, her eyes troubled. ‘Drew has something he wants to say to you.’ Tilly felt her heart slump in her chest; this didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all.

‘Drew?’ was all she could manage before she noticed his suitcase. No! Her mind refused to believe what she could see with her own eyes.

She didn’t like this. Not one bit. Drew hadn’t dressed in his best suit to go fire-watching. Her instincts were bristling now, telling her that no matter what he was about to say, there was nothing she could do about it.

‘I have to go. Forthwith.’ Drew made an attempt at humour but it didn’t work.

‘Forthwith?’ Tilly asked, bemused, but his answer came all too swiftly, and a chill sliced right through her.

‘It means I have to go away tonight.’ Drew’s voice dropped to a whisper as he gazed into her tearful blue eyes. ‘Now. Immediately. I have to catch the flight my father has arranged tonight …’ His smile slipped a little and she could see tears brimming in his eyes.

‘You mean you can get a flight to the States at such short notice, even though you’re not in the Forces?’

‘If there are seats available you can be sure my father will wangle one,’ Drew said.

‘Why do you have to go, Drew?’ Tilly’s voice was barely a whisper as she asked the question. His mother was ill, he was telling her. He would be back some time soon. Some time, soon? She couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him every day.

‘I knew I would have to go back someday, you knew that, tell me you did, Tilly.’ Drew searched her face as if imprinting her beauty on his memory forever. ‘I tried to leave you with the letter but I couldn’t. I had to see you one more time …’ He tried to keep the obvious misery from his voice but eventually he accepted defeat as his shoulders slumped and all his jovial bravado disappeared. ‘Tilly, I gotta say …’ There was a strange look in his eyes, like he was trying to read her, ‘today was swell, I never wanted it to end …’

‘I’ll never see you again!’ Tilly gasped the words that suddenly struck her, forcing them from her lips. She wanted to get away from this, be anywhere except listening to her one true love tell her he was going tonight. This isn’t right, she thought frantically, first she lost her father then her grandparents – now Drew was leaving her, too. She’d never get over it, she wouldn’t! Tilly could see his beautiful lips moving and forced herself to concentrate.

‘I won’t be gone forever, Tilly, you know that, don’t you?’ Drew gently took her in his strong arms. But Tilly didn’t know any such thing. His plane could be shot down in the middle of the Atlantic. His father might not allow him to come back. Anything could happen.

‘You’re too beautiful to stay away from, my darling, you make my every day complete …’

‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’ Tilly blinked her tears away but more came.

‘My mother is very ill.’ He looked down at her for a long time as if trying to choose the right words. But there were none. Drew took a long, deep breath, whilst Tilly tried to swallow the restriction in her throat that had suddenly threatened to choke her.

‘Do you remember when I told you that I may have to go back to the States someday?’ Tilly nodded like a child who needed to be reassured and he continued, ‘I prayed every night that they could find a cure for Mom, and for a while that seemed to be the case.’ Tears were running freely down his handsome face now. ‘I longed to stay with you in this wonderful, devastated place where there is so much love, and a kind of freedom I never had before …’

‘Oh, Drew,’ Tilly whispered, unable to say any more when he gently placed the tip of his finger on her lips.

‘I dreamed we would set up home together. I planned to build us a house when this war is over … our children go to decent schools, be happy and free. I dreamed that one day we would have the perfect life, oh, honey, please don’t cry any more, I can’t bear it …’ Drew gently outlined her face, his touch almost imperceptible, before kissing her tears away. ‘I will come back to you as soon as I can, I promise.’

Tilly had to believe his words or how else could she let him go? They had both known he would have to go home someday. But it would always be too soon.

‘I will come for you, believe me.’ The forced smile on his lips did not reach his eyes and Tilly could not control her agony any longer. Her body gave way to deep, shuddering, convulsive sobs and he held her for a long time, until she was exhausted.

‘Oh, Drew,’ Tilly said eventually, calmer now, remembering the unopened letter still in her hands. ‘Were you really going to leave me without saying goodbye?’

‘I couldn’t – I know that now.’ His words, low, threaded through her hair.

‘You promised that you would take care of me,’ Tilly said, her head on his chest, longing to behave with dignity, since she didn’t want him to remember her with red, swollen eyes and a blotchy face, but it was useless, she couldn’t control this desperate emotion that was seizing her and in the end she didn’t care that she was making a fool of herself.

Drew held her for a long time, silently stroking her hair. Then gently he held her at arm’s length and said in a calm, quiet voice, ‘My darling Tilly …’ Tears filled his own eyes. ‘Please don’t send our ring back to me.’ His voice ebbed and, unable to speak now, Drew bent and tenderly kissed her wet cheek.

Tilly gazed up at him, her arms circling his neck, and through a mist of tears she too was unable to voice her loving, if selfish, thoughts, knowing he had to go. He had no choice. She had a powerful, unbreakable bond with her mother and Tilly knew how devastated she would feel if anything should ever happen to her. How could she deny the man she loved his need to see his own mother, perhaps for the last time? She must let Drew go with the knowledge she would be here waiting for him when he got back. Because, for her to get through this, she had to believe he was coming back. He would come back. She knew he would.

‘I love you, Tilly Robbins.’ Drew’s voice was gravelled with emotion. ‘I will write to you every day. You know that, don’t you?’ He had a desperate need to be reassured. With scalding tears streaming down her cheeks Tilly nodded, her voice refusing to articulate this love she would feel until her dying day.

‘I’ll leave you with a kiss to build a dream on until we can be together again,’ he said before kissing her with a fevered power that took Tilly’s breath away. Then, reluctantly, he walked away. His back was stiff, his head held high as he made his way to the waiting cab.

Tilly watched as its door clunked shut and she waited, desperate for him to turn and wave out of the back window. He didn’t. She waited, and waited, until long after the reverberations of the taxi’s engine could no longer be heard and the chill of the night air caught at her throat. She felt weak with grief, and the eerie silence that had wrapped itself around her was broken now only by her devastated sobs as the vibrant colour of her world disappeared, making everything grey, drab and miserable.

Her mother’s protective arm around her quaking shoulders was just too much right now and she shrugged it away. She didn’t want to be cajoled or coaxed into being calm. She wanted to scream, she wanted to throw herself on the floor, to kick, and beat her fists. She couldn’t bear it! She would die!

‘Come on, my darling.’ Her mother’s voice came from somewhere a long way off. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Tilly sobbed; her head buried in the crook of her elbow. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ The crumpled letter she had received from her darling Drew was crushed in her shaking hands. He’d sworn to her in church that he would love her forever and she so wanted to believe that as her trembling fingers turned the ring that was now obviously on the third finger of her left hand, the one that she had proudly showed off when she and Drew arrived home from holiday. Tilly had ignored the pained expression on her mother’s face, willing her to be as happy as she was. Drew’s promise to love her and be with her forever more was still deeply etched on her memory.

‘Oh, Mum, how will I be able to carry on without him?’

‘You will find a way, my darling, we women always do.’ Olive rose from where she had been sitting on the corner of Tilly’s bed and went to her daughter’s side, cocooning her in a loving embrace. Hadn’t she, too, had to endure the departure of the man she loved at an early age? ‘I know you are hurting,’ Olive said, rocking Tilly back and forth, ‘but you must be strong. Drew will come back, I’m sure.’ But even to her own ears the words didn’t sound convincing.

‘I don’t think I will ever see him again, Mum,’ Tilly cried, ‘and it’s not just the war. As soon as he gets home he will be back in his father’s clutches again.’ Her voice wavered as the fragrance of summer grass, still clinging to her clothes, reminded her that only a few short hours ago she and Drew were the happiest couple in Hyde Park – or so she had thought. When he’d gently outlined her face with his fingertip and lovingly stroked her hair, was he trying to find the words to tell her he was going away? Or was he counting the minutes knowing his flight would be leaving soon?

‘Shh, my darling, don’t cry,’ Olive whispered, worrying now if Tilly had the strength and maturity to carry on alone, without him. She hoped so, otherwise the girl was lost.

All Olive could do was be there for her heartbroken daughter, and see her through this painful episode as best she could. As a mother she knew she would do everything in her power to prevent the pain and suffering Tilly was going through now.




SIX


‘Dulcie,’ Olive called up the stairs, ‘you have a letter here.’

Dulcie pulled the blanket high up to her chin, wondering if she had truly heard Olive calling her, or if she was still asleep; that luxurious pastime seemed to be in short supply since her work at the munitions factory took up most of her waking hours of late. She wasn’t sure if it was the repetitive drilling of holes and riveting metal or the long, laborious shifts that robbed her of her stamina. But whatever it was she intended to finish her sleep today.

‘Dulcie!’ There was no mistaking Olive’s voice this time. Dulcie opened one blurred eye and tried to focus on the little alarm clock she had managed to save from the salvage people, who took everything they deemed necessary to go towards the building of airplanes and ammunition.

What time was it, she wondered as the muzzy wakefulness began to irritate her. Or, more importantly – what day was it? She had been sent home from the factory yesterday because of a stomach upset, in case she passed it on to every other worker. Thankfully Olive let her rest when she said that she felt so ghastly and also telephoned the munitions factory from the call box at the end of Article Row to say she wouldn’t be in today either.

‘Dulcie, did you hear me?’ Olive called again. ‘There is someone here to see you.’

‘Ohhh, go away,’ Dulcie groaned, feeling nauseous now. If she moved quickly she was sure she was going to disgrace herself and throw up all over Olive’s clean linoleum. She must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her from the newly installed canteen, or maybe it was the whelks her mother had plied her with when she went to see her on Sunday for church. Whatever it was she doubted she could hang on to it much longer.

Olive had chanced a little tap on the door earlier, giving Dulcie an old-fashioned look when she made no effort to get up, then she put a sanitary towel, a Beecham’s pill and a glass of water on the bedside table, and told her she would be back later. Dulcie had said she just needed a long sleep; she didn’t need any pads or powders today, thank you very much.

Thoughts were lazily drifting through her rising consciousness, and as she became more alert questions formed. When was the last time she had been in need of a sanitary pad? Sitting up quickly in bed, she realised it must have been about seven weeks ago! She put her lateness down to the upset caused by Wilder running off with her sister, Edith.

She knew she wasn’t the world’s most regular girl so it didn’t bother her too much that she hadn’t seen her ‘visitors’, as she always called her monthly period; after all, nothing had happened between her and Wilder. She’d made sure of that, and now she was glad the cheating airman hadn’t been able to chalk her up as another willing English girl eager to catch herself a handsome, love-’em-and-leave-’em American. And she was sure that Reece Redgrave didn’t count.

Dulcie had put her air-raid shelter tryst with the young airman down to nothing more than an accidental misunderstanding. It had only been the once and everybody knew that girls could not get caught the first time – and anyway, it had only lasted for moments, not even minutes. Nobody got caught that fast. Dulcie’s heartbeat raced, and beads of perspiration broke out on her top lip and her forehead. You couldn’t get caught that easily, surely?

‘Dulcie, did you hear me? There is someone here with a letter for you.’ It was only when she heard Olive’s obvious impatience that she realised the urgency. Her mind automatically darted to her brother, Rick, whose regiment had been deployed to the desert; she knew because she had actually seen him on the Pathé newsreel at the pictures. His regiment was in Tobruk and had been taken by surprise and captured by the Axis forces. They had got word that he had been taken as a prisoner of war.

Dulcie’s mind was racing as she pulled back the sheets and blankets. She knew that the authorities would send a telegram to her parents if anything had happened to Rick – but they had moved from the East End! Scrambling from the bed her foot got caught in the bedclothes making her stumble. What if he had been involved in an accident? Surely his platoon sergeant would come to her in person. No! They would go to Edith now. Her parents! What if something had happened to them? Oh lord, she thought, there was a war on, people were dying and she was laid up with a stomach bug! She had to do her bit, no matter what. Keep calm and carry on, that’s what the posters said. What if something had happened to her family? The niggling voice persisted. All self-pitying thoughts suddenly went out of her head now as she scrambled into her pink dressing gown she’d bought second-hand from a stall in Portobello market.

Berating herself for her unkempt appearance as she lurched from the room, Dulcie felt her stomach heave again. She hadn’t felt this bad since … In her haste to be downstairs she realised she had never felt this bad. Tying the belt of her dressing gown around her so tightly she could hardly breathe, she saw Olive at the bottom of the stairs.

‘There’s a young American airman in the front room and he wants to see you.’ Olive looked calm and motherly now as Dulcie almost fell on the final step.

‘Who is he?’ Dulcie asked as her heart began to race. Olive knew Wilder so it couldn’t be him. She watched as her landlady shrugged her shoulders. ‘What does he look like?’ She surmised Reece Redgrave had come to visit. Well, she thought, if he had she would give him a piece of her mind. Coming here unannounced and uninvited! How dare he!

Turning, she checked her appearance in the oval oak-encased mirror on the wall opposite the stairs, then, grabbing the comb that was kept on the little occasional table, she ran it quickly through her hair and grimaced, wondering if she looked sufficiently ill to garner a tremendous amount of sympathy. Taking a deep breath and smoothing down the pink imitation-silk dressing gown she strode, head high, shoulders back, towards the front room like a leading lady about to make her Broadway debut.

Sweeping through the door she was dismayed to see that it wasn’t Reece Redgrave who was sitting on Olive’s best settee. As soon as she entered the room the airman stood up and offered his hand to Dulcie, whilst in the other he had an envelope.

‘Hello, ma’am, my name is Joe; I’m a friend of Reece Redgrave …’

‘Oh, he’s sent you to do his dirty work, has he?’ Dulcie said, angry now that he wasn’t who she thought he would be.

‘I don’t know about that, ma’am,’ said the surprised American, ‘but he’s been moping around the barracks, he didn’t go out nor nothin’. This letter is for you, it has your name and address on it so I thought I would deliver it …’ The rest of his words were left unsaid as Dulcie seized the letter he was holding out.

‘I suppose it’s a grovelling apology. Well, if he thinks he can get around me by sending his messenger he’s got another think coming because I’m not won over that easily.’ She was so annoyed that Reece had sent one of his buddies to give her the letter. ‘Some English girls have more pride than to fall at the feet of the next American airman who winks his eye and snaps his fingers, and another thing,’ she began as she roughly tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

‘I’m afraid he’s dead, ma’am,’ the airman said simply.

Dulcie heard a gasp and she realised that Olive was standing behind her.

‘This was in his locker; it was sealed and addressed to you so we thought it only right that it should be delivered. I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma’am. He was shot down off the coast of Northern Ireland.’

Dulcie’s hands shook so badly she almost dropped the letter, and after hurrying up the stairs she slammed the bedroom door and cried bitter tears until she was physically sick. She was still sobbing when Olive knocked a couple of minutes later.

‘Can I come in?’

Dulcie barely choked her consent and she couldn’t even utter the words screaming inside her head. Reece was dead. It was a nightmare. She’d met him fleetingly. She’d forgotten that she told him where she lived because she was so proud of her address. She hadn’t expected him to remember it so vividly, but, she recalled, he had no family, but he must have somebody – anybody. Surely she wasn’t the only girl he had been friendly with?

Dulcie cried as she tried to make out his neat, copperplate handwriting that told her he was sorry he had mistaken her friendliness for something else and that he really did like her a lot. He went on to say that although he had never been loved like that before he would always treasure the memory and he hoped that she would too. He really liked her and thought she was a great gal, and if he could summon up the courage to ever send this letter he would love to ask her out and start all over again …

Dulcie quickly wiped away her tears with the pad of her hand. He must have written the letter just after … She couldn’t bring herself to think about the time in the air-raid shelter. She had been so wanton, so decadently immoral and … drunk! But not drunk enough to forget.

Dulcie could not ignore the fact that she gave Reece his first and probably his last thrill of a woman’s body. And now he was dead.

‘Here, drink this,’ Olive said as she sat on the bed and handed her the glass of water. Dulcie looked into Olive’s kind, motherly eyes and without any need of proof, she knew for certain now that she was carrying Reece’s baby.

‘Oh, Olive,’ Dulcie cried, ‘is Sally home?’

‘No, Dulcie, she isn’t,’ Olive said, ‘but judging by the look of you I think I’d better call Dr Shaw.’

All morning Sally carried out her duties with a smile on her face, a spring in her step and a song in her heart. The sun was shining through the sash windows of the Nightingale ward where injured servicemen were recovering in regimented rows of iron beds whilst a few of them had actually commented on her sunny personality.

‘You look like the cat what’s got the cream, Nurse,’ said one Geordie wag before she briskly popped a thermometer in his mouth and plumped his pillows.

‘You can’t beat a lovely sunny morning,’ Sally smiled, giving nothing away. Everything could have been so different if George had accepted back his engagement ring and they had actually broken up, when they’d had their big discussion earlier in the year. She had been so sure he wouldn’t want a ready-made family, and she couldn’t have rejected baby Alice after all she had been through. It wasn’t the child’s fault, after all, that she had been born into such a treacherous family.

However, George had proved he had a heart of gold when Sally returned home to Article Row to find him playing in the back garden with baby Alice and reassuring Sally that nothing could diminish the love he felt for her.

‘There’s a dark cloud coming over that horizon though,’ said a patient on the other side of the men’s surgical ward, ‘so I’d enjoy it whilst it lasts if I were you, Nurse.’

‘Don’t be such a pessimist, soldier,’ Sally laughed, knowing nothing could dampen her spirits today. When her morning shift was over, George was meeting her for lunch, as he had come to Bart’s to see her, having a couple of days off from the Queen Victoria, and she couldn’t wait to see him. They were going to the National Gallery, as Olive was taking Alice out for the afternoon. and she was so looking forward to their time together.

But an hour later as she and George left Bart’s, the soldier’s forecast became reality when the clouds burst and a powerful downpour came so quickly and so forcefully it bounced off the pavement and had them running for the nearest shelter.

‘Let’s get something to eat before we go to the gallery,’ George said, pulling up the collar of his Crombie overcoat and lowering the brim of his herringbone-patterned trilby against the deluge, whilst Sally wrestled with her umbrella against an unseasonal sudden gust of wind. George took the umbrella and opened it with ease before Sally linked her arm through his. His long, rapid strides caused her to almost run to keep up with him.

‘Hey, what’s the rush? You must be hungry.’ Sally gave a small, nervous laugh. George seemed preoccupied, his thoughts elsewhere and he certainly was not talkative.

‘Is something the matter, George?’ Sally looked up at him and, with his head bent and him being slightly ahead of her, she couldn’t read his expression beneath the rim of his hat. Being a quiet, thoughtful man by nature it wasn’t unusual for the two of them to walk in a companionable silence, each lost in their own idyllic thoughts of the future, content in the security of their love for each other.

But that was before she told George about Alice. He still wanted to stand by his promise to spend the rest of his life with her, he had assured her, but since then his whole manner had become so different from the way he had been before that Sally worried George was having second thoughts. With her arm outstretched in an effort to keep hold of his coat sleeve she wasn’t sure he wanted to be with her at all today.

‘Let’s go in here,’ George said, steering her into a nearby British Restaurant, almost causing her to trip. Then, steadying her without a word, his eyes seemed to say it all. Their usually warm glow was replaced with a sad reproach. She had never seen him like this, and momentarily it unnerved her as she could feel her heart sinking.

‘George?’ Sally wanted the truth, and she wanted it now. ‘Have I said something wrong?’

‘No, darling,’ George said quickly – too quickly, ‘of course you haven’t.’ He took her hand and wrapped his capable, talented fingers around hers as he edged her into the window seat they were lucky enough to bag even though the place was busy with lunchtime workers and shoppers.

After placing her umbrella in the stand near the door George went to find a waitress and Sally watched him. He looked tired, suddenly. She hadn’t noticed that before, and she wondered if he was getting enough sleep. There hadn’t been an air raid for a few weeks now, so his shift patterns were more stable than they had been during the worst of the Blitz. But Sally still worried that he did too much, knowing he thought nothing of jumping into another shift if the hospital was busy, or if another doctor needed help he would be the first to offer.

Feeling slightly uneasy sitting in full view of people passing the window, with its criss-cross tape adorning the large plate glass, Sally turned her engagement ring around her finger, mesmerised by the glint from the weak rays of sunshine now popping through the clouds as the rain eased, and was glad when George returned to the table.

‘They said the menu is on the wall,’ he informed Sally. ‘Anything you fancy?’

‘Just soup for me,’ she answered after quickly studying what was on offer today and not really wanting anything to eat for some reason. She had been so happy and full of hope this morning. For the first time in weeks she felt she could tell George anything. But now she wasn’t so sure.

‘I know it must have come as a shock when I told you about Alice,’ Sally ventured as they waited for their order, all the time watching him closely, worrying what impact her words were having. ‘I was concerned that, being such a kind and gentle man, you would feel duty bound to take the two of us on after saying you would and then regret it but be too kind to say so?’

‘It isn’t like that, Sally.’ George gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘That’s not the case at all. I think Alice is a lovely child and I would be proud to bring her up as my own. I am so glad you told me about her, because I want to get to know and love her as much as you do.’

‘Then what’s wrong George?’ Sally asked, knowing George had been acting strangely for a while now and she still didn’t have a clue why. He seemed even more reserved and distracted than usual. And given that he wouldn’t look her in the eye, as he usually did, she wondered if he really had gone off her and was trying to gently let her down. ‘Is it me, George?’ She had to know.

‘No, never!’ She saw the look of alarm flash across his face. ‘Never, never would I stop loving you, Sally, I couldn’t.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Sally answered, acknowledging he sounded sincere enough, and in his heart he probably meant every word. But what about his family? What would they think of their talented son taking up with a girl who had a child to bring up? George might have every intention in the world of bringing up Alice, but his mother could well have other ideas, and it was this thought that worried her now.

Sally didn’t have time to answer as the waitress brought them each a bowl of vegetable soup and some bread. There was an uneasy silence between them now broken only by the low buzz of conversation from fellow diners and the distant singing voices of Flanagan and Allen urging the rabbit to run, run, run.

And Sally knew exactly how it felt, as they completed the rest of their meal in a strained silence. If it hadn’t been for the fact that it would be a criminal waste of good food she would have left it, as her appetite had all but disappeared, and she was having a difficult job of swallowing the soup even though it really was delicious. Slowly they managed to clear their bowls, each lost in their thoughts.

‘Have you had enough to eat?’ George asked and Sally nodded with an air of inevitability; the meal had been a disaster, and after George threw half a crown onto the little plate for the two threepenny soups, he helped her into her coat. They walked out of the restaurant without waiting for the two shillings change and Sally knew the smiling waitress was going to have a happy day today with such a good tip to spend.

‘Sally, I …’ He was finding it hard to say what needed to be said, so she helped him.

‘George, do you mind if we don’t go to the gallery? I am so tired, I didn’t sleep well last night, Alice was fractious and …’

‘No my dear, certainly not.’ His words came out in a relieved rush. ‘I have a mountain of paperwork, and reports coming up to my knees.’ He gave a small stab at humour but neither of them was in the mood for frivolity. ‘I will walk you back to Article Row and …’

‘I don’t mind walking alone if you have to take the train back to the hospital,’ Sally lied. She did mind. She minded terribly, but there was nothing she could do about it as the sinking sensation of disappointment threatened to overwhelm her. However, quietly, she refused to let George see her disappointment.

‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you walk home on your own. Anyway, I’m staying in Drew’s room just for a couple of nights, now that he’s gone back to America,’ George said kindly, taking her hand as if there was nothing wrong. ‘Makes me feel quite nostalgic for when everyone used to lodge there. You must have a rest, you look tired.’

‘Alice will soon put paid to that idea,’ Sally laughed with forced brightness, ‘but Olive will welcome the break from looking after her, I should imagine.’

‘I’m sure she won’t,’ George said, unconsciously tucking her hand into his pocket, something he had done since they spent their weekend away together. ‘From what I’ve seen, Alice is smothered with love from every direction; she’s a very lucky little girl to have such an adoring female family.’

Sally looked up at him and for the first time that day he smiled, really smiled, as if the thought actually brought him pleasure and for a fleeting moment Sally wanted to beg him to spend the rest of the day with her, but she didn’t. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

Back at number 13, Article Row, George politely refused Olive’s offer of a cup of tea, explaining he had a lot of work to finish before the next morning. And after walking with him down the long hallway, Sally was more than a little surprised when she received a chaste kiss on her cheek. Placing his trilby hat on his head at a jaunty angle, George turned without another word and walked out of the front door.

Olive recounted to Sally that she’d had to call the doctor for Dulcie who had received a terrible shock: a friend of Wilder’s, whom she had known too, had been shot down and killed the night before.

‘I’ll check on her later,’ Sally said a little distractedly, looking out of the window.

‘Is something the matter, Sally?’ Olive asked, her voice full of concern when she came into the kitchen after checking on Dulcie and putting baby Alice down for her afternoon nap. ‘You look a bit pale, I hope you’re not coming down with this bug as well.’ She didn’t like to see the young woman so down.

‘I think George has gone off me now he knows about Alice,’ Sally said abruptly.

‘No!’ Olive’s eyes widened: she’d worried this might happen after their weekend away together. And even though they were a very mature, responsible couple, George had savoured the fruit of Sally’s love, and now it looked like he was losing his appetite. Olive sighed; she didn’t have George down as a love-’em-and-leave-’em type of chap but who knew what was going on in a man’s mind these days?

‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ Sally countered. ‘I’m being silly, I’m sure everything will be fine,’ she added over-brightly, not sure at all.

‘Of course it will,’ Olive said. ‘George is very busy; his mind must be full of worries.’ ‘Worries’ being the war and the added casualties, she thought, pulling her chair from under the table, knowing everybody was under a huge amount of added pressure. However she couldn’t bear to see ‘her girls’ upset, and even if she was overstepping the mark she wouldn’t let any of them suffer alone and in silence; one never knew what the next few hours could bring.

‘I did think he looked a little pre-occupied, if you don’t mind me saying …’

‘Oh, you’re right, Olive, he’s been ever so busy at the hospital,’ Sally said quickly, ‘and in his spare time he has to deal with writing up all those reports and …’ It was no use, her throat constricted and her chin trembled and she couldn’t continue. Without any more warning Sally suddenly burst into floods of tears. In a flash Olive was at her side, cooing and shushing her like her mother used to do, cocooning her convulsive shoulders.

‘Never mind, my dear,’ Olive cooed, ‘you just let it all out.’ After a few moments Sally’s tears receded and Olive offered her hot tea after putting in an extra half spoon of sugar and put down the cup, which thanks to the shortages was resting on a mismatched saucer. ‘Drink this whilst it’s hot, it’ll do you the world of good.’

‘Tea solves all ills.’ Sally didn’t intend her voice to sound so abrupt. ‘I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful …’

‘Don’t you give it another thought, my dear,’ Olive said, stalling Sally’s apologies. ‘You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you need me.’ She resumed her seat on the other side of the table and her warm, caring eyes viewed Sally’s sadness with maternal compassion. ‘You know where I am if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen.’

‘Thank you, Olive, I’ll remember that.’ Sally gave the other woman a watery smile before blowing her nose and shrugging a little. She couldn’t possibly tell Olive that there was also the question of what would happen to Alice if she and George didn’t marry now; someone had to look after the child – and she had to work. How else would they be able to afford to live in Article Row if she wasn’t earning? Olive was a wonderful woman, everybody knew that, but she couldn’t conjure up food and heating out of thin air.

‘Why don’t you go over to him?’ Olive asked Sally after draining her cup. ‘You will feel much better if you know one way or the other.’

‘Know what?’ Sally asked weakly, not feeling strong enough for this.

‘Know how much work he has to do, maybe you could help.’ Sally looked at Olive and wondered if she should? She knew she wouldn’t rest until she and George had cleared the air and she found out what his problem was, because it was obvious there was one, no matter how much he tried to persuade her everything was fine. Also, Sally knew she couldn’t risk another night without sleep.

‘Go on,’ Olive said, ‘take as much time as you like, Alice is fine here with us.’

Sally jumped up before her courage could fail her again and she gave Olive a huge hug. ‘Thank you, thank you so much.’

‘Get away with you.’ Olive smiled and rolled her eyes. ‘And don’t come back here until you’ve got everything sorted out once and for all.’ She knew her girls seemed wrapped up in their own personal conflicts now. She had to be strong for all of them.

In Hyde Park on their last day together, Tilly thought, Drew had let her waffle on, talking about the war and how it must feel to lose somebody they loved, and all the time he was aware that he, too, could lose the woman who had brought him into the world and gave him life. Drew, kind, loving Drew, who had let her talk of how things could be, when all along his heart was breaking.

A dry sob shook her body as Tilly realised yet again how special he really was, how considerate of the feelings of others who were suffering even when his own emotions were being put to the test.

Unable to hold it all together any longer, the dam of Tilly’s sorrow burst forth and scalding tears coursed down her cheeks. Alone in her room she dared not let her mother see her until her tears had subsided and she didn’t think that would be for a good while yet.

However, she realised when she could think more clearly, lying still and calmer now, it wasn’t Drew’s mother she had cried for – she didn’t know the woman – but she did know that Drew would be deeply shocked and saddened. And it was he who was deserving of her commiserations now. Tilly knew he felt things more keenly than most people. He cared deeply for those he didn’t even know, so she could only imagine how his mother’s passing would devastate him. He would be suffering so much and she was heartbroken that she could not be by his side to comfort and console him. And this grieved her more than words could say.

Feeling a little reckless and with Olive’s encouragement still ringing in her ears Sally knew she wasn’t going to let George go as easily as she first imagined she would. Slipping the key he had given her earlier into the Yale lock, Sally vowed she would coax him with her own method of loving, which would persuade him that she and Alice were the only family he would ever need. And as Drew had gone back to America she knew they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Silently opening the sitting-room door Sally wasn’t surprised that the only sound in the house was the heartbeat tick of the clock on the mantelpiece, and knowing George would be concentrating on his files in the study she crept in so as not to disturb him. However, as she stepped into the room another unexpected sound could be heard.

The clink of a bottle hitting the rim of a crystal glass was followed by the gentle glug of liquid being poured, and Sally wondered, all of a sudden, if she was intruding. Maybe George had company? Her heart beat accelerated.

‘Hello, George,’ Sally managed to say quietly when she saw him at the sideboard and realised he was alone. George had been oblivious to her presence it seemed, going by his astonished expression when he wheeled around and spilled some of his drink. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ But it wasn’t his look of amazement that gave Sally cause for concern – it was the realisation that he was absolutely stumbling drunk.

‘Shally.’ George slurred her name and raised his glass, giving her a lopsided half-smile. ‘Come and have a little drinky with me.’

‘I think you’ve had enough, George.’ She had left him not more than an hour ago. How could he possibly have got himself into this state in such a short space of time? He must have drunk the alcohol like water.

‘C’mon, let’s have a little drinky and then …’ His eyes had a glassy gleam she had never seen before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. He flapped the brandy bottle in the air and invited her, with a come-hither wave of his other hand, to join him. Sally wasn’t even sure he could see her properly, he was so drunk. However, he wasn’t so drunk he didn’t notice her hesitation. Slowly, with great concentration, he placed the bottle on the sideboard, then, taking a deep breath, he said in slow, measured tones, ‘Shally … let me exshplain … hic …’ His intoxicated state had led to an outbreak of hiccups, which he found quite amusing – even though Sally did not when she recognised he was so sloshed he couldn’t make it back to the sofa unaided.

‘Here, let me help you before you fall over.’ Sally wrinkled her nose as he tried to give her a big wet slobbery kiss on the cheek and succeeded in landing in a dishevelled heap on the sofa, scattering cushions and laughing inanely at nothing in particular. She knew George wasn’t a heavy drinker; in fact neither of them cared much for alcohol. Instead they much preferred going to the pictures or the theatre, but most of all they liked to keep a clear head. So for George to get into this state Sally knew he must have something very disturbing on his mind.

‘I’ll get you a cup of black coffee, George, it might sober you up a little,’ Sally said in her most professional, no-nonsense voice which she used to settle unruly squaddies who tried it on. She turned to leave the room, but felt herself being held back by her wrist, and as she quickly turned she found herself being pulled towards George, and landed on top of him with a thump. For as much as she loved him and would usually welcome such an intimate embrace, Sally wasn’t too keen on the strong brandy smell that seemed to emanate from his every pore, nor the one-eyed stare as he tried to focus.

‘Let me get you that coffee, darling,’ Sally said in her most soothing tones as she scrambled to her feet. There was absolutely nothing George could do to stop her as he couldn’t get to his own feet in such an inebriated condition, and in fact he was so far gone he couldn’t keep his other eye open either.

When Sally returned moments later with two cups of black coffee, George’s head was hanging over the side of the settee, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and he was snoring like an overstuffed pig. Sally noticed the brandy glass, balanced precariously between his fingers, was spilling its contents onto the carpet. George, she noted with concern, was dead to the world and experiencing no pain, but Sally couldn’t guarantee he would feel that way when he woke up later; in fact she would lay money on him feeling very sorry for himself.

Looking at him now, even in this drunken state, she knew she would forgive him, eventually. However, she worried it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

‘What if you vomited in your sleep?’ Sally asked the unconscious George. ‘You could choke to death. What if you tried to climb the stairs? You could fall down and break your neck!’ No, she thought, there was nothing for it but to stay until he was safely awake. ‘And when you wake up later with a screaming hangover there will be words, George, and most of them will be coming from me.’

It was late and growing dark when George began to stir, and Sally could tell just by the putty-coloured tinge around his gills that he was suffering an explosive hangover.

‘Feeling queasy, George?’ Sally asked, secretly satisfied he wasn’t feeling up to answering her back. ‘You have slept like a dead man for hours, I daren’t leave you.’ She hoped that Olive wouldn’t be too cross about looking after Alice all this time, but it was imperative she made sure George was safe. ‘I’ve taken advantage of Olive’s good nature for too long already, George,’ she said, watching as he leaned forward and buried his head in his two hands. ‘I can’t expect her to look after Alice indefinitely.’

‘Sally, darling, can you just be quiet for one moment.’ George had never so much as disagreed with her before now, and she was shocked to the core to hear him telling her to shut up now. She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation and then, thinking better of it, she closed it again. How could he speak to her like this? Was this the proof she needed that he had gone off her after all and decided to drink himself into oblivion before he could break the bad news? ‘I’ve joined up,’ he said simply, looking defeated. Momentarily, not one single thought passed through Sally’s dumfounded brain. Then the realisation began to creep in. Joined up? Joined up!

‘But George, you have a job here!’

‘A safe job, you mean!’ George looked so angry when he said that and then he told her he had enlisted in the Royal Navy that very morning as a ship’s surgeon and no matter how many times he tried to get it into her head that he was doing the honourable thing Sally would not listen.

She was so angry she left him standing in the middle of the room looking dishevelled and smelling like a brewery whilst she went to make him some black coffee. Once she had gathered her thoughts together she would decide on what to do next.

‘Don’t you understand, Sally, I need to do this.’ George followed her to the kitchen ‘I cannot let my fellow countrymen down and hide behind the privilege of a consultancy – oh, did I tell you I got the consultant’s job? – Today, would you believe.’ He gave a hard, almost bitter laugh; Sally knew he’d waited so long for the position.

‘But, George, you are needed here!’ Her words, so strangled, were barely audible.

‘Tell me, Sally, who needs me more than those poor brave men torpedoed out of the water?’

‘I do, George,’ Sally answered, all her fight depleted now.




SEVEN


Drew knew there were two ways to go to the mall. There was the lower east side, which was the shortest route and the one everybody usually took. That meant passing where all his old buddies hung out, who would no doubt want to know about England or ask about his mother’s funeral yesterday and he didn’t want to talk about it. Then there was the longer way round, which of course took longer.

Although, he silently reasoned, if he took the short route he wouldn’t need to take the car his father had bought him as a bribe to keep him in the States. However, the guys would stop him for catch-ups on every corner and he didn’t need that today. His mind made up, he decided to take the Chevrolet Sedan to the mall.

Feeling unusually unsociable because he was missing Tilly so much, Drew knew Al’s Diner was the only place he could get a burger on rye and a fresh cup of coffee without being badgered for information about his trip overseas. As the car glided to a halt outside the diner, he wanted to think about the wonderful girl he’d left in London.

Sitting on the high stool at the counter waiting for his order he settled, once more, into the familiar smell of hot percolated coffee and fresh doughnuts that had been absent in England. But it was Tilly, so keenly missed, that he wanted right now.

He wondered how long it would take for her mail to reach here, knowing he couldn’t go much longer without hearing from her. His mind was in turmoil. What if she got hurt – or worse? A pony-tailed girl in bobby socks, carrying school text books, sat next to him and smiled. Drew, not having the heart to ignore her, smiled back, but heck, he wasn’t in the mood for talking right now.

‘Say, didn’t you used to live in England?’ she asked and Drew nodded. ‘My brother’s over there,’ she continued in a forthright way, ‘he’s in Liverpool – have you heard of it?’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it.’ Drew said, shrugging his shoulders. He was glad when her girlfriends came into the diner drooling over the latest Frank Sinatra photo in a magazine. Drew sighed with relief.

His father had used every trick in the book, Drew knew, short of actually having him arrested to keep him here. But he was determined when he’d finished the latest harebrained assignment his father set for him he was going back to Tilly. His wonderful mother was gone now, so what did he have to stay here for?

His thoughts drifted back to London and girls no older than the ones in the booth across the shiny blue-and-yellow tiled floor sharing a soda, who would be working in munitions factories or driving buses. They would be on fire-watch duty like his Tilly, or manning ack-ack guns like the girls in the Forces, dressing the open, livid wounds of their brave countrymen like Sally or keeping essential services going like Agnes, brave women one and all …

Distracted, he took a peek at the newspaper his father published. It was being read by a large truck driver sitting next to him who didn’t lift his head when he called to the waitress for eggs over easy, whilst the young girl across the floor dropped a dime in the juke box. Everything was so normal here, a million miles away from the devastation in London. He listened to the haunting melody of Glenn Miller’s ‘At Last’ fade to be replaced by the whirr and click of another record dropping on the Wurlitzer juke box, with its flashing lights and glass-domed top.

Drew managed to sit at the diner counter only long enough for the beautifully melodious tones of Vera Lynn’s voice to tell him there’d be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover, which caused a restriction so tight in his throat he could hardly swallow. The last time he’d heard that song he and Tilly were dancing together, making plans for their future. It was all too much and he couldn’t take any more.

‘Skip the order,’ Drew managed to say to the waitress behind the counter who didn’t bat an eyelash at his request as they would have done in England, he noticed, for the simple reason that rationing hadn’t hit here. Maybe it never would, he thought, who knew?

All he did know was that there was no shortage of food and drink at his mother’s funeral, which had been like a who’s who of his father’s shallow supporters. All of them in the business of lightening his load if he wished to avail himself of their services, all of them his ‘yes’ men.

Listen to yourself. Drew angrily crossed the sidewalk to the Sedan. You’re already beginning to sound like one of Dad’s people, who use ten words where two will do.

‘Oh, Tilly, I gotta get outta here!’ Drew said aloud, ignoring the suspicious stares of people passing by. ‘Oh, honey, why do we have to live so far apart?’ He was so deep in thought he didn’t even see the truck coming, nor hear the screams of the women who tried to grab his arm to stop him walking into the road. He didn’t feel a thing.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/annie-groves/only-a-mother-knows/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.