For All Our Tomorrows (29 page)

‘And don’t take it into your head to stay on with this sick aunt of yours for any length of time. I need you back home by Sunday night at the latest. How I shall manage to cope with the children all weekend on my own, I cannot imagine. It really is most inconsiderate of you. And this toast is cold. Please make some fresh.’

Sara bit back the apology which came instantly to her lips and rushed off to make fresh toast, even though it would never have gone cold in the first place if he’d not left it standing while he berated her over the lack of an egg.

The following afternoon Sara attended yet another meeting of the War-Weapons Week Fund-Raising Committee and Nora Snell, as usual, was pushing through various motions with no real protest from the rest of the members. Sara was paying very little attention, her mind elsewhere, worrying over what she should wear. Her clothes seemed so dowdy and she so wanted to look good for Charlie, yet she couldn’t dress up too much, since she was only supposed to be going to visit her aunt. She was brought sharply back to the present when she heard her name spoken. ‘Sorry?’

‘You are the ideal person for the task, dear.’

‘Am I? Oh, um, what, exactly, do you want me to do, I mean . . .?’ Sara was reluctant to admit that she hadn’t been paying the slightest attention and didn’t have the first idea what job had been selected for. Nora, however, was quick to notice her confusion.

‘Do pay attention dear, we can’t have people day dreaming when we are discussing important business.’

‘Sorry.’ Nora always made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl.

‘In any case, I’m sure there won’t be any problem, since you and he are so very friendly. Come straight out with it. Take the bull by the horns, as it were. Just pop up to Windmill this very afternoon and ask that nice Lieutenant Denham if we can ‘borrow’ some of his men to help shift scenery for the concert in the town hall this summer.’

‘Oh, oh I don’t think I can do that. I wouldn’t be the right person at all, not at all.’ The last thing Sara wanted was to see Charlie. They’d agreed not to meet, not today, not at all this week. How could she possibly see him, speak to him and not reveal her feelings, their secret plans, just by the way she looked at him? Someone would be sure to notice her behaving like a love-struck schoolgirl, and tell Hugh. No, no, she must avoid that, at all cost.

‘Stuff and nonsense, of course you are. Absolutely ideal! But do try not to be bullied into giving away any free tickets in return for the work, dear. Rather defeats the object, I always think, if we can’t rely on people’s generosity on these occasions. We’d never buy any battleships or torpedoes if everyone was given free admittance just because they’ve done us some small favour or other. And also mention that we need someone to put up lights too, would you, dear?’

‘Couldn’t someone else go? I’m rather busy at present.’

‘Rubbish, what else have you got to do with your time since your dear husband has barred you from working in the pub?’

‘He hasn’t barred me. He just doesn’t need me behind the bar now that he has Iris. But I have other work. I’m still fully involved making the pasties and so on, as you well know.’ Why on earth did she feel the necessity to defend herself, or Hugh?

‘Yes dear, of course you do, and it must be a great relief to be free of such an unseemly occupation as serving pints of beer to raucous, noisy GIs. Although, it’s perfectly obvious that you were a favourite among them. Which is why you are the very best person for this job.’

And so the motion was carried and the meeting brought to a hasty and welcome conclusion, everyone hurrying away in case Nora should find something else for them to discuss, or a job for them to do.

It was a great relief to Sara too that it had ended, as she hated to have her personal and private business openly aired, in danger of practically being written about in the minutes.

It wouldn’t surprise her if Isobel put ‘Sara’s Friends and Working Arrangements’ or ‘The doings of the Marracks’, on the agenda.

Nora managed, however, by dint of being remarkably agile on her feet, despite her mature years, to catch up with her before she even reached the door. Perhaps to apologise, Sara thought, on a note of wild optimism. She should have known better.

‘Now you will go and see that nice Lieutenant Denham this very afternoon, won’t you, my dear. Do it right away, seeing as how busy you’re going to be over the next few weeks with your packing and so on.’

‘I beg your pardon? Packing? What packing?’

‘For your move, dear. Of course, I won’t breathe a word. As you know, I am the soul of discretion. Not a word will cross my lips until the deal is all signed and sealed,’ and she gave a conspiratorial wink, as if she were in on some private secret.

‘Um, I think you’ve made a mistake. We’re not moving. Heavens, rumour runs riot in this town. Who on earth gave you the idea that we were?’

Nora gave a girlish titter behind her hand, which somehow didn’t suit her tight-lipped, schoolmarm image. ‘Oh dear, have I spoiled his surprise?’

‘What surprise? Have you been talking to Hugh? What has he been saying?’

‘Oh, dear me, no. He hasn’t said a word, not to me. I may have got it all wrong but I spotted him coming out of Cyril Lanyon’s house on the Esplanade, and everyone knows the poor man has been trying for years to sell that property. Far too big for a widower. I saw them shake hands in a very businesslike way, quite clearly having come to an agreement. Ah, I thought, so Mr Marrack is going to buy that fine house. How very splendid. And good for the town too, as he can probably afford to return it to its former glory. Poor Cyril has neglected it badly in recent years. Our local hero deserves the very best, I thought. You know, we really should suggest that Hugh try for the council. Exactly the sort of candidate we’re looking for.’

Sara was listening to all of this waffle in something of a daze but this last comment was too much, and she very rudely marched away without even a goodbye.

Later, when she confronted Hugh in his den under the eaves, and challenged him on the subject, he quite calmly agreed that yes, he had indeed made an offer for Cyril Lanyon’s house and so long as the bank were prepared to give him a mortgage, which he was quite sure they would, then they would be moving into it quite soon.

Sara was flabbergasted. ‘And when were you planning on telling me this important piece of news? I mean, how could you make such a decision without even
thinking
to discuss the matter with me? Don’t I have any say at all?’

He set down his pen with a frown of impatience. ‘Had you been in my bed, where you ought to be, I might have thought to mention it. However, what useful contribution could you possibly have made? You know nothing about property and, as my wife, must live wherever I think is right for us, wherever I feel we can afford.’

Fury lashed through her, leaving her speechless for a good half minute. Even when Sara did finally find her voice, she spoke in a rush, breathless with anger. ‘Even a
wife
has an
opinion
, or don’t you grant me with sufficient intelligence to even be allowed any say over where we live?’

‘Are you saying that you have no wish to reside in that lovely, regency house?’ He waited patiently for her answer, a sardonic smile twisting the corner of his mouth.

‘Oh, don’t be so bloody pompous.’

‘Sara!’

She’d shocked him, at last, and oh, she was so pleased. How she hated him in that moment. She could quite easily have knocked that self-satisfied smirk right off his face. ‘No, of course I’m not saying any such thing. How could I? It’s a lovely house. Beautiful. But I would’ve thought that, as man and wife, we should make joint decisions about such things, discuss the matter together.’
 

‘I really don’t see why. You can make no financial contribution so obviously the decision must be mine. Besides, a move might well assist us in our current difficulties, don’t you think? It’s not as if I’m asking you to live in a pig sty, so I don’t quite see your objection.’

It was an utterly amazing house, so why was she objecting? Why wasn’t she pleased that he was clearly doing well in the business and could afford such a move?

Because if they moved into a fine new house, she would feel obliged to live in it with him, perhaps even share a bedroom again, and in her heart she knew that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Yet she must give no indication of these feelings in case he investigated the reason.

Sara drew in a shuddering breath, desperately striving to steady herself. ‘Did you mean it as a surprise, perhaps, to please me?’

He must have seen something of her misery in her face, for he set aside his papers and came to take her in his arms. ‘Don’t I only ever want what is best for you, for us both? Look, why don’t you come and see it right now, this very afternoon. I’m sure Cyril won’t mind. If you absolutely hate the house then I shall be disappointed, displeased even after all the trouble I’ve taken, but I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to live in it. When have I ever forced you to do anything that you have no wish to do?’

Sara stared at him transfixed, knowing with a dreadful certainty that he genuinely believed this to be true.

She dashed up to Windmill and left a note for Charlie, asking him for volunteers to help with the concert, then collected the children from school, ready to meet Hugh on the Esplanade.

The house was quite tall and grand, with four bedrooms on three floors and panoramic views over the river, admittedly slightly marred by the water tank on what had once been the croquet lawn of the Fowey hotel, but that would go eventually, when the war was over.

Hugh was pointing out the magnificence of the mouldings on the ceiling of the drawing room, the chandeliers and the stylish bedrooms and bathrooms. Sara instantly fell in love with the long, basement kitchen with it’s solid fuel stove, and knew that when Hugh was working at the pub, this would be where she would spend her time, in the warm heart of the house. That is, assuming their marriage survived. Yet how could it not? There were the children to think of. They were even now running all over it in excited anticipation.

‘Can I have the big front bedroom, Daddy?’ Drew yelled, jumping up and down with excitement. ‘Then you could buy me a telescope and I could watch for enemy ships for you from my bedroom, instead of you having to go out onto the headland.’

‘No, son, the largest bedroom is for Mummy and I,’ Hugh quickly responded, fearful the boy might be about to say more. He smiled at Sara, a cool and calculating smile that made her shiver. ‘But you can have the small one next to that, and if you’re very, very good, I will buy you a telescope of your own, so that you can watch the ships coming and going.’

‘Oh, t’rific! Just like William.’

The house, so far as the children were concerned, was perfect. There was a long garden at the back for them to play in, with plenty of room for a swing beneath the shade of a sheltering elm. Jenny was even now pestering her father to build them a little tree house within it’s branches. Hugh brushed her aside with a gesture of irritation.
 

‘Are you sure we can afford it?’ Sara asked, still bemused by this sudden change in their fortunes.
 

‘If I say we can afford it, then we must be able to do, mustn’t we? What stupid questions you ask, Sara.’ He sounded deeply irritated and she hastened to placate him.

‘I wasn’t meaning to doubt you, Hugh. I’m simply amazed – stunned really. It must have cost a small fortune.’

‘Not at all. It’s been for sale for years and is quite run down. Besides which, property prices are depressed at the moment. It’s definitely a good time to invest.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is. And the bank are agreeable to lend us the money?’

His response was sharp and terse. ‘I’ve already told you, Sara, you can safely leave all of the financial side of things to me.’

And then he pulled her to him and kissed her, stroking back her soft, fair hair and for the briefest of moments revealing the patient, caring husband he’d once been, before the war had changed everything.

Except that later came the betraying thought that it wasn’t quite fair to blame the war. Perhaps Hugh always had been bossy and intimidating but she’d never really noticed, not until she grown up a little more herself and wanted more say in her life, or until she’d met Charles Denham. Somehow, the thought made her feel more trapped than ever.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As the end of her journey approached, Bette’s feeling of nervousness and unease increased. Would Chad be waiting for her at the station? Would he be pleased to see her? And most important of all, would he still love her?

Of course he would, she consoled herself, over and over, as the miles slipped by and there was nothing to do but think of the baby she carried, and of Barney who she’d left behind. Would she ever see Barney again?
 

Perhaps, in the circumstances, it would be for the best if she didn’t.

Most of all she thought of Sara. She’d never really considered, until the decision had been made, how much she would miss her sister. Already she was longing for her, wishing she was sitting beside her, sharing this adventure, instead of this skinny stranger with a baby who’d done nothing but grizzle and cry the entire day.