For All Our Tomorrows (10 page)

Tea was brought, and Charles ordered two toasted tea cakes as well. These were utterly delicious, for all they carried only a scraping of margarine rather than butter, and the jam was rather tart. Strangely, even though this was indeed an odd spot for her to be sitting in the midst of all these dockers taking tea with an American GI, Sara felt perfectly relaxed and at ease, starting to really quite enjoy herself.

All the while they ate, he chattered away, telling her about Boston, and the fall, his work up at the base.

Sara told him about the WVS, the children collecting salvage, the removal of gates and railings, small details of town life, of folk doing their bit. How she missed being able to go up to St Catherine’s castle, sit on the old stone walls to watch the ships coming in, now that it was covered in camouflage nets and gun batteries. Even how to make powdered egg taste good, and the fact the pasties she made weren’t as good as before the war, because of the lack of decent meat. ‘More of Fred Pullen’s home grown vegetables from his allotment than good steak, but I do my best, and people seem to enjoy them.’

‘I’m sure they do.’

What am I saying? Sara thought, yet they were talking so easily, as if they’d been friends for years. ‘That was wonderful but I really should be going. It was most generous of you. Thank you.’

‘It was worth it to see you look so relaxed and smile. You still haven’t fully explained though, why we’ve been deprived of your delightful presence in the bar.’

Not for the world would she tell him of Hugh’s absolute ban. Far too disloyal. ‘Actually,’ Sara said, trying to make light of it, ‘I don’t have time any more. I’m far too busy driving all around the countryside collecting newspaper and bottle tops to turn into battleships.’

He was considering her expression with intense scrutiny, as if trying to read the truth behind her words. ‘Ah, I see, and this battleship will be made of such rubbish presumably?’
 

‘Got it in one.’ Sara leaned towards him, her voice suddenly eager. ‘I’m doing my best to be useful but, oh, I do envy the women who do
real
work: are despatch riders for the military, work in factories, on the land, or have joined the WRNS, ready and willing to fight the enemy in any way they can. My own efforts seem insignificant by comparison.’

He didn’t laugh or pooh-pooh her feelings but considered them quite seriously. ‘I’m sure that is not the case at all. I was only teasing when I suggested the battleship would be made out of rubbish. Fund raising, salvage, all of that stuff is an essential part of the war effort too. I’ve heard how many thousands of pounds the folk of Fowey have raised this last year or so, and I’m deeply impressed. Enough to build two battleships, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Several torpedoes, I believe.’ Sara giggled. ‘You should have seen Fore Street and Trafalgar Square when it all first began. Everyone emptied their lofts and cellars and the streets were awash with tins and boxes, old iron bedsteads and battered frying pans. It was hilarious. The council didn’t know where to put it all. Poor Nora had to organise dozens of trucks to clear it all away. It’s getting harder to find so much now, although we have to keep trying, apparently. That’s what I’m doing today, begging for treats and comforts to send to sailors. Anyway, I’d like to think that it’s all worth while, and that I’m doing something useful.’

She was talking too much, Sara knew it, but couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t bring herself to get up and walk away.

There was something in the sympathetic tone of his voice, in his steady gaze that made her feelings come bubbling out, almost as if she had no control over them. ‘I do
miss
working in the pub and chatting to you all. I wish I was still allowed to . . .’ She stopped, appalled by what she’d been about to say.

He pretended not to notice. ‘If anyone can prise stuff out of folk, you can. That’s what you were doing the other day, when I saw you driving from Lanlivery?’

‘Oh, I wasn’t sure that it was you.’

‘I’ll wave next time, to make sure you do.’

‘Yes.’

Again silence, their gaze locked. He had the gentlest eyes she’d ever seen, a dark, chocolate brown.
 

‘I really should be going.’

‘Me too.’

Sara looked down at their hands resting on the table, almost side by side. His were tanned and square, the fingernails long and smooth and very clean. She saw the muscles twitch slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and grasp hers within them, and she quickly began to pull on her gloves, to gather up her bag.

‘I hoped to visit all the shops in this part of town today, and then I must pick up the children. Do you have children? Oh, I’m so sorry. How extraordinarily rude of me.’ Sara was flooded with embarrassment at her own forwardness. ‘Thanks again for the tea and toast,’ and she fled before ever he had chance to answer. Which was a pity, because she would like to have know what it was.

Chapter Ten

One day, Jenny’s teacher asked if she would help organise the school children into collecting bagfuls of seaweed. This was a special commodity which the coastal towns of Cornwall could provide, being a variety known as gonothyraea, used in the making of penicillin. ‘Someone needs to be with them, and I’m so short staffed.’

Sara gladly accepted the challenge.

‘The seaweed helps our injured soldiers get well again,’ she told them, whenever they complained about the cold or the wet, or the slippy rocks. ‘Be brave, children, and think about those brave men.’

‘And at least we’re missing arithmetic,’ piped up one small voice.

Sara laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose you are.’

This appealed to such an extent that volunteers doubled overnight.

By December she had been co-opted onto the War Weapons Week committee where plans were indeed in progress for a major fund-raising event the following year. Having done so well in the past the town meant to do even better this year, perhaps sufficient to buy boats or equipment for whatever operation was currently being planned and carried out right here in Cornwall, before their very eyes.

‘Perhaps you’ll have some new ideas, dear,’ said Nora Snell, when the idea was broached at one of their regular meetings. ‘After all, it is well known how very friendly you are with the GIs.’

‘I wouldn’t say so,’ Sara protested, thinking of what Hugh’s reaction would be to such a statement. ‘No more than anyone else.’

‘Come dear, don’t be modest. We all know how much they miss you at the Ship, but you could perhaps organise some sort of event for us, Sara dear, since you did the dance so well. Perhaps a whist drive or concert?’

‘I would need to ask my husband.’

‘Would you really?’ Nora clearly would never dream of asking Scobey’s permission to do anything.

‘Yes, I believe I should.’

Well, I suppose
you
would dear, in the circumstances. We all perfectly understand why he has banned you from the bar, poor man. All the local men are so jealous of the GIs, and is it any wonder? Overpaid and oversexed, isn’t that what they call them? They’re like wild beasts, or so I’m told.’ She tittered rather foolishly, delighted by her own outrageousness.

Sara was determined not to rise to the woman’s vindictiveness. Nevertheless, in view of Hugh’s strong objections to her involvement with the fish supper, it would be wise to check with him first before committing herself to anything further.

‘If you must, you must, dear, only we’d really like to get this matter settled then we can get on with other business. So run along and ask him now, if you please.’

And Sara had no alternative but to comply, just as if she were a small child needing to ask permission from a parent or headmaster.

She couldn’t find him behind the bar, nor was there any sight of Iris. Only Sid stood there, happily wiping glasses and pontificating on his favourite subject of fishing. ‘Have you seen Hugh anywhere, Sid? I’m really in the middle of a meeting at the town hall but I’d just like a quick word.’

‘Upstairs, I reckon,’ and he jerked his chin towards the ceiling.

Sara spun about and raced up the wide staircase, two at a time. She’d just reached the first floor when Hugh suddenly appeared on the staircase which led from their own quarters above, rushing to meet her looking all flushed and flustered. ‘Sarah, I thought it sounded like you. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at a meeting. Has something happened?’

‘No, no, of course not. Only Nora wants me to get involved with the War Weapons Week, to help organise a jumble-sale, whist drive or some such. Or maybe something more ambitious like a concert. I just wanted to be sure that you had no objection before I committed myself.’

He pulled her into his arms. ‘Darling, how sweet of you to ask.’

‘Well, I know how you reacted that time over the dance, and I don’t want us to be at odds over this. I want to make you proud of me.’

‘I am proud of you. I think you’re a marvellous wife and mother, a little lacking in the brains department, sweetheart, but we can’t all be bright, and you can safely leave all of the difficult stuff to me.’

He kissed her then, so the instinctive protest which rose in her throat never got uttered. It was quite a passionate kiss which went on for a surprisingly long time and during it she had the strangest sensation that they were not alone, as if someone had brushed past them on the stairs. Sara ignored it as the feeling was not so unusual. The Ship Inn was rife with stories of ghosts and hauntings. She’d once or twice seen a grey lady on the stairs who seemed quite friendly and benign, and it really was lovely to be held so close and embraced with such passion. When the kiss finally ended, Sara was quite out of breath.

‘I have to go. They’ll all be waiting for my answer.’

‘Of course. We can’t have them thinking you dilatory, and we can carry on where we left off once your meeting is over, can’t we?’ Hugh suggested with a sly wink.

Sara smiled. He could be so sweet, so exciting when he put his mind to it. ‘So I can say yes?’

‘I really have no objection to your little activities, why should I? Everyone should do their bit, however small and insignificant it might be, and it’s good to see that you are finding something to keep yourself amused, darling. So long as it doesn’t get too much for you, or intrude upon our life too much.’

Embarrassed now over holding up the meeting for so long, as well as seeming to be very much under her husband’s thumb, Sara brushed the patronising remark aside as of no consequence. It was so typical of Hugh to need to see himself as the best at everything. She popped a swift kiss on his nose by way of thanks, then turned and flew down the stairs, her heart still singing with her husband’s praises and his passionate kisses. Consequently, she failed to notice that Iris had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to join Sid behind the bar.

One afternoon a week or two later, Charles slipped in to her kitchen to ask if she was willing to help him organise a Christmas Party for the children. Sara didn’t hesitate for a moment, feeling safe now that Hugh would not object. Hadn’t he made it clear that his attitude had softened considerably since those first awkward days? Besides, the end of the year was surely in sight and a Christmas party would be lovely. She couldn’t remember the last time the children of Fowey had enjoyed such a treat.

‘I’d be delighted.’

‘Excellent! We can supply the food, don’t worry about that, and lemonade, balloons, all that stuff.’

‘And paper hats. There must be paper hats. Oh, but we can’t get any crêpe paper. I know, we could get the children to make some out of old newspapers. Miss Ross, Jenny and Drew’s teacher, will organise that, I’m sure. They can paint them lovely colours. Oh dear, will they have any paint, I wonder.’

‘If they don’t, we’ll get them some. We must have something other than battleship grey. And we can supply presents, one for each kid. What I want to know from you is how many children we would be catering for. How many boys? How many girls? What ages? We want to get it right. And will you organise the games? Hell, we’re hopeless at your English party games.’

Sara laughed. ‘No problem. On children, I’m an expert.’

There was a moment’s silence while she waited to see if he would take this opportunity to volunteer an answer to the question she’d unwittingly asked in the tea rooms about whether or not he had children of his own, but he didn’t. Perhaps he’d forgotten it.

‘That’s great. I’ll be in touch. At least we’ve got the ball rolling. What I need next is a Santa Claus, which shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. See you,’ And with a wave of his hand he jumped down the step to stride away up the Church path.

As she watched him go, Sara’s heart was beating unnaturally fast, but that was only because she was excited by this new challenge, and had at last found a purpose to her life. Nothing at all to do with the prospect of working alongside Charles Denham.

The party took more organising and planning than Sara had bargained for and she was keen to get it right. As well as the party hats there were crackers which needed to be made, and she found herself roped in by Miss Ross to help with this particularly messy task.

Then there were the games to plan and music to organise. Lists of necessary food supplies had to be drawn up; Jellies made, bread ordered, cakes baked. Last, but by no means least, there were all the presents, generously paid for out of the marines own pockets, to be wrapped and labelled, clearly stating what age of child would most appreciate this gift.