East End Angel

Carol Rivers
, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset.
East End Angel
is her seventh novel.

Also by Carol Rivers

Lizzie of Langley Street
Rose of Ruby Street
Connie of Kettle Street
Bella of Bow Street
Lily of Love Lane
Eve of the Isle

First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster, 2010
This edition first published by Pocket Books, 2010
An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK
A CBS company

Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2010

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
Pocket Books & Design is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster

The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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Simon & Schuster Australia
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-84739-842-0
eBook ISBN: 978-1-84983-188-8

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Cox & Wyman

East End Angel
, my seventh book, is dedicated to Joe and Esta, Wendy, Jason, Ella and Jessica, and Vicki and Terry, with all my love.

To Maxine, Emma, Gráinne and everyone at Simon & Schuster, a big, big thank, you. To Dorothy Lumley, once more and with heart, thank you. And to my dear Chris, for your hard work online, thank you. And Kate, I haven’t forgotten that it all began with you.

For the many online resources I have used to help me bring
East End Angel
to life, I am so grateful. To the wonderful Ali, Ade and Nathan, you’re fab! To my Facebook friends, Diane Allen, Janine Pulford and the indefatigable mags4you, to the ever supportive Judith and musical wizard Steve Harrison, and to Kate Flynn–my thanks and affection.

For Jill at Gladys Court for reading over and over again, to my very first readers Jacqueline Richards and Pamela Burridge, to the amazing Daisy Woodward and Eve Hostettler of the Island Trust and to the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA), which keeps authors in touch with everything writerly and works so hard to sustain us, this is my opportunity to thank you for everything.

And lastly to you, to the readers of Rivers novels everywhere, the biggest thanks of all!

June 1941, Isle of Dogs, East London

Pearl’s breath caught in her throat as, through the parted blackout curtains, she saw a tall figure standing outside the house. Dressed in naval uniform and wearing an officer’s peaked cap, he smiled at her sister, Ruby, who hurried out to him.

Even before he swept off the cap and tucked it under his arm in order to greet Ruby in a warm embrace, Pearl had recognized Ricky Winters. Looking twice as handsome in uniform as ever he had in civvy street, he pulled Ruby close as she went on tiptoe to kiss him.

Pearl kept her eyes fixed on the couple, hoping there was some mistake. But with every movement of his body, a physique that still had the power to turn her knees to jelly, it became clear to Pearl that Ruby and Ricky were an item. Struggling for breath, Pearl’s trembling fingers found their way to the soft satin folds of her dress, reminding her that this was her wedding day.

‘You all right, sweetheart?’ It was her husband’s deep voice that brought her back to the present and Pearl swung round to look into Jim Nesbitt’s concerned blue eyes. The deep crease between his fair eyebrows and shock of sandy hair, which had been cut rather too short, were a reassuring sight. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and tell him how much she loved him.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she nodded. ‘Just nervous, that’s all. Well, s’pose I should be; a girl don’t get married every day, does she?’

Pearl felt the sweat bead her top lip as a thousand questions rushed through her mind, all for Ruby, who hadn’t said a word about seeing Ricky. With an effort, she listened to the conversation between Jim and her mother, who had come to join them. Amy Jenkins was very fond of her new son-in-law and between them they were in raptures over the wonderful service.

The church ceremony had been everything Pearl could have desired. Even the little things she would remember, like the cut on Jim’s chin that he’d made with the razor as he’d rushed to dress this morning. The sight of it had prompted her to reach up and kiss him as they’d stood waiting to sign the register. Quietly she’d teased him at the tightness of his white collar and tie. In wartime, it was make do and mend, and Jim wasn’t a fussy dresser though he always looked smart. His major expense had been her solid gold wedding ring, and Pearl’s heart gave a little flutter as she gazed at her finger. Not a two-bob piece of tin from Woolworths, but a solid gold band from up West. They hadn’t had time for an engagement, though Jim had told her he’d buy her an eternity ring after they were married. They’d make a Saturday afternoon trip of it and go round all the best jewellers.

Pearl’s gaze softened as she thought how lucky she was to have a husband in a reserved job. His engineering skills had exempted him from the call-up. She would never have the heartbreak of seeing him go off to war like so many other brides. And when they’d walked down the aisle and out of the church, Jim had found her hand and squeezed it, telling her with his eyes how much he loved her and would always be with her.

There was no confetti but there were pats on the back and cheers, and Ruby, looking a picture in her blue bridesmaid’s dress, waving madly from the church porch. Had she been waiting for Ricky then?

Pearl was suddenly aware that Jim and her mother were staring at her. ‘Think I might get a breath of fresh air,’ she stammered, adjusting her veil. ‘Matter of fact I wouldn’t mind taking this off. It’s hanging on by a wing and a prayer.’

‘Give her a hand, son, will you? Take her out to the yard for a breather.’ Amy Jenkins clasped Jim’s arm with affection. ‘Her dad and me will hold the fort till everyone else comes. We sent the car back to fetch your mum and then me sister and Syd’s brother. The others will have to walk, but it’s not far from the church. Then when you come in we can start on the food and drink.’

Jim nodded obligingly. ‘I could do with a smoke an’ all.’ His eyes twinkled as he slipped his arm around Pearl’s waist. ‘And a little cuddle with me wife.’

‘Talk about young love!’ Amy nervously patted the collar of her dove-grey suit. ‘Off you two go and make the most of a few minutes of peace. And that reminds me, if there
is
a raid, God forbid, I’ve put a few things in the Anderson to tide you two lovebirds over: a couple of blankets, the new oil lamp and a flask. All you’d have to take with you is a few nibbles from the table. The rest of us would go to the public shelter, but I really don’t think we’ll be put to the trouble.’ A sigh escaped her lips as she added hesitantly, ‘I don’t wish Jerry on me worst enemy but now Moscow is their new target, the bombers ain’t such a danger to us.’

Jim nodded emphatically. ‘Winnie warned ’em, didn’t he? Now they know a leopard don’t change its spots, especially one as bloodthirsty as Hitler. But you’re right, Mrs Jenkins, for me and Pearl it was perfect timing.’

Everyone was relieved the Luftwaffe was busy elsewhere. The past nine months of Blitz had almost taken the heart out of the city. On 11 May the Luftwaffe had returned to Germany leaving London shattered and burning after the heaviest raid ever. And it was then that Pearl had decided she was going to grab every ounce of happiness she could for the future, including accepting Jim Nesbitt’s proposal of marriage. Yet now, on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, it was not the German bombers that Pearl was most afraid of but someone much closer to home.

‘Anyway, we ain’t going to think about the war today,’ her mother decided, resuming her bright smile and patting her short fair hair, curled overnight to within an inch of its life. ‘This is your special day, my loves, and no one, not even Adolf, is going to spoil it!’

As she hustled them through the kitchen Pearl made up her mind that somehow she had to prepare Jim for Ricky’s appearance. It was on the cards that Ruby would invite him in. Ricky wasn’t a stranger to Jim, as the two men were the same age – twenty-eight. Both had been members of the Dockland Settlement Club, a meeting place for the youth of the Isle of Dogs, and it was where, at sixteen, she had first met Jim, a keen rower and swimmer, and much in demand on the dance floor.

‘Blimey, your dad opening a scrap yard?’ Jim’s voice brought her back to the moment as they walked into the backyard. ‘Reckon this place needs a bit of a tidy.’

Pearl smiled wistfully. Those were her mum’s sentiments entirely. The Blitz had given Syd an excuse to be his natural disorderly self, and as Pearl gazed round, she felt a deep affection for her dad. She was so lucky to have a husband who thought the world of his father-in-law.

Suddenly Jim’s strong hand grabbed hers as he pulled her into the shade of the Anderson. A few dandelions, sprouting from the turf on the shelter roof, scattered their seeds around them. ‘Fairies’, she and Ruby had called them as kids. The sky above was as blue as Jim’s eyes and the only reminder of war were the silvery barrage balloons floating high above the island.

‘Here, let’s take this off.’ Jim’s gruff voice was filled with tenderness as he lifted the yellowing veil from her shoulders. Pausing, he smiled as she slid out the tiny pins that held the headdress in place. The whole ensemble, from the long, invisibly darned veil to the even more re-upholstered white dress, had been her mother’s and safely preserved in a bottom drawer. Altered overnight to meet the demands of a 1941 fashion-conscious young woman, it had graced Pearl’s slender five foot eight inches with elegance. And in wartime, when silk was almost unobtainable, the dress, old as it was, had proved a treasure.