For All Our Tomorrows (5 page)

He had indeed, and a good one at that, judging by the number of monkfish, sea-bass and sea-trout that flopped into the little boat.

‘Well, it do save us the trouble of going fishing in the morn.’

‘Aye, and saves on coupons too, that’s for sure,’ said Scobey, well pleased with their catch. Their stroke of good fortune would be sufficient to feed all their families, friends and neighbours, for days to come.

It was Nora Snell’s idea that some of the fish be used to hold a welcome party for the newcomers. Nora wasn’t particularly well known for her generosity but even she couldn’t cope with this bounty, and she always enjoyed showing off her husband’s prowess, considering the stick he got just because of his misfortune to have a slight squint. Nora, however, did not want the bother of organising the event herself but was past-master at organising people, and since she naturally needed a venue in which to hold it, who better to ask than Sara Marrack?

She cornered her the very next morning outside Varco’s wet fish shop, the proprietor of which wasn’t best pleased by this competition, even though he’d agreed to take a few off her hands.

Sara was startled. ‘Goodness, I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask. Besides, I don’t think there’d be room at The Ship, do you, Nora? We’d need somewhere much bigger.’

Nora wasn’t for letting Sara off the hook quite so easily and chewed over this problem in silence for a moment or two. ‘You could always ask the mayor if we could use the Town hall. I’d do it meself only I have enough on my plate, d’you see, cooking the fish. And we’d have to do it quick, afore they go off. Tomorrow, at the latest. Besides, those boys do deserve something special to show they’m welcome.’
 

Sara lapsed into deep thought. Nora was right for once. It would be good to offer some sort of welcome party. And if, at the back of her mind, she felt a twinge of hope that it might also offer her the opportunity to see a certain lieutenant again, she pushed the thought firmly aside.

‘It could make us some money for Weapons Week.’ Nora added, by way of enticement. ‘This is the biggest catch in living memory, at least since the pilchards used to run by these shores early in the nineteenth century. ’

‘I suppose so, and worthy of celebration on its own account, let alone putting out the welcome mat to our visitors,’ Sara said, and found herself agreeing, although in her heart she knew that Hugh would be furious at the very idea of her being involved. But how could she possibly refuse? The whole town was talking about the catch. It was a phenomenon. She put this point to Hugh, hoping to sway him, but he wasn’t fooled.

‘You must think I’m mad. This shindig will cost me money, I’ll be bound.’

‘Don’t be silly, Hugh, you might actually make some. Everyone is going to want to come so we thought we’d hire the Town Hall, get Hamil to play his fiddle and we could have a bit of a dance, followed by the fish supper. But since it’s only a step away across the square, they’ll no doubt wear a path to your bar for constant lubrication.’

‘These men have come to fight a war, not dance or go to parties.’

Hugh did not believe that Sara took the war seriously. How could she, being merely a woman? Yet ever since the start, Fowey had played an important role in operations. The river was deep enough to allow passage of ships up to 15,000 tons to berth, and the town already possessed working docks and a railway, all safely cloaked by hills and woods.

The navy had come first with their minesweepers and Z boats, armed trawlers and motor gunboats, swiftly followed by the RAF, the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, plus many units doing jobs nobody quite understood or dared question. Situated as the town was, relatively close to the Channel Islands and to France, the movement of the French fishing fleet within these waters was common place, and who knew what they were up to half the time?

Hush-hush boats, they called them. Hugh was highly curious about their activities but had more sense than to ask. Should he ever chance to see strangers being disembarked, slipping away into the narrow streets of the town, he averted his gaze and forgot about it instantly.

‘Be like Dad and keep Mum’, was advice to be taken seriously in these parts. Not volunteering, was another of his maxims.

But the prospect of profit always appealed and Hugh was sorely tempted to agree to Sara’s request, wondering if perhaps he’d been a touch hasty. Of course, it would mean that his own wife wouldn’t be available to help so he’d have to hire it for the evening, which galled him somewhat. He hated to fork out money unnecessarily.

‘You should be here in the bar with me, as my wife.’

‘It’s only for one night. Iris Logan would come and help, I’m sure. I’ve heard she’s courting a sailor and saving up to get married. She’ll be glad of the money.’

This gave Hugh further pause for thought, since she was quite a tasty number was Iris, not that he allowed Sara to see his interest. ‘Anyway, why would they ask you? What do you know about running a dance?’

‘It can’t be all that difficult. Nora and Isobel are organising the food, so all I have to do is to ask Hamil to play his fiddle, and perhaps find a gramophone and borrow a few dance records.’

‘Don’t be stupid. There’s much more to organising an event than that. You’d need to advertise, make and sell tickets, keep proper accounts of money paid. And what would you do with the profits?’

‘Give it to the war effort, of course, what else? Nora already has that all organised, and word will soon spread, like wild fire I should think. And we don’t intend to charge much.’

‘I still can’t see you managing all of that on your own. You’d make a complete hash of it, for sure. Then we’d all be wasting our time.’

Sara swallowed and was suddenly filled with uncertainty, as so often happened when he doubted her ability. Perhaps he was right. Had she been a touch hasty in agreeing to take on the task? It had seemed perfectly straightforward when Nora first suggested the idea, now she viewed it as a mountain to climb. There probably was much more to organising a dance than she’d imagined, and, as Hugh said, she’d get in a muddle and make a hash of it.

Look how furious he’d been with her when he’d discovered how badly she’d flushed out the beer pipes the other day. Incandescent with rage, calling her useless and a liability because she’d ruined perfectly good beer. Ruined or not, he’d continued to serve it. Even so, Sara clung tenaciously to her rapidly evaporating self esteem.

‘At least I’d know that the drinks were well organised, by you dear, and you could offer me advice, couldn’t you, from behind the scenes, as it were?’

Hugh was mollified somewhat by her apparent need of him, and, in spite of his disapproval of what he deemed to be trivialities, thought again about the likely profits he’d make, which at least would come
his
way rather than to the war effort. He needn’t pay Iris too much, she’d be glad of the work if she really was courting.

‘If I do agree for you to be involved with this event, and to host the bar myself, I shall want an assurance that your role will be purely administrative.’

Sara frowned her puzzlement. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’

‘I mean, I don’t want you hob-nobbing with those Yanks, Sara. You must keep well in the background.’

‘I might be asked to help pour the tea, Hugh,’ she said, keeping her face very straight.

He glared at her, not sure whether to take her comment seriously or not, although surely Sara didn’t have the wit to be sarcastic. ‘I believe there are many women in this town far more capable of this task than you. However, as you say, at least I can keep an eye on things, if
you
do it. But I will not allow you to slave away over a hot stove, frying fish all night long. And you absolutely will
not
fraternise with those marines. So long as that is quite clear, I will grant my permission.’

Sara mentally counted to ten before kissing him quickly on the cheek and saying how very much she appreciated his generosity. ‘I’m sure I shall manage perfectly well and not have to bother you at all.’

Chapter Five

It was to be a night to remember. Tea and biscuits were laid out on long tables, and, in honour of the occasion, coffee had somehow been acquired to please the Americans, though nobody quite liked to ask how this miracle had come about. Plates, knives and forks had been borrowed and were laid out ready and waiting. Nora and her happy band of helpers were cooking the fish in a big skillet in Isobel Wynne’s kitchen. Hamil was tuning up his fiddle and even before the church clock sounded the hour of seven, the place was humming with locals and marines alike, with naval officers, sailors, ARP wardens and various members of the auxiliary forces, not forgetting any number of bright-eyed girls.

A lively, if not particularly sparkling rendition of
What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor
, got the evening off to a good start, with Hamil sawing away for all he was worth on his fiddle and Sid Penhale battering the life out of an old drum.

At what seemed an appropriate juncture, Sara relieved them and offered to put on some records. The pair went happily off for refreshments at The Ship while the notes of
We’ll Meet Again
brought couples to their feet once more.

Sara could hear one of the marines telling a girl that he was this size because he’d been brought up on a cattle ranch and ate beef all the time. Another claimed that he owned a huge apartment block in New York. She couldn’t help smiling, wondering how much truth there was in any of this, and then glanced across at Bette, held tightly in Chad’s arms, where she’d been for much of the evening. What had he told her, and would it be true? Who could judge? These boys were out to impress the local girls in a foreign country.

The song ended and Bette came over to request another slow number.

Sara protested. ‘I thought we’d have
Woodchopper’s Ball.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, can’t you see everyone wants to hold each other close? Where is your sense of romance, sister dear? Here, let’s find
Moonlight Serenade
. It must be here somewhere,’ and she began rifling through the records.

 
Sara took the opportunity to whisper a quick word of caution to her younger sister. ‘Take care, Bette. You know nothing about him, he could be married, spinning you a yarn, anything. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘You sound as bad as Mam. I’m a big girl and can look after myself, thanks very much.’

‘I’m sure you can in lots of ways, but I just want you to take care, to be aware that you’ve no means of checking him out. All this about him owning land could be nothing more than a tale, one big fairy story. He can say what he likes and you wouldn’t know any different. You wouldn’t believe the bragging I’ve heard this evening alone.’

‘Are you implying Chad is a liar? Charming, you don’t even know the man and already you’re condemning him.’

‘No, I’m not, but . . .’

‘Yes, you are. You just said that he was spinning me a yarn.’

‘I said that he might be.’

While they were arguing, Sara’s job as record changer was taken over by one of the marines, probably because everyone was tired of waiting for the next record. He put on a bee-bop and within seconds, the men had grabbed a partner and the room was jumping, pulsating with energy. Chad came and whisked Bette away and the conversation abruptly ended.

Sara stood watching and laughing, despite her reservations about her sister’s behaviour, dazzled by the display of energy, as well as the show of stocking tops, as girls were lifted and whirled and spun with crazy abandon. Never had she seen the like in all of her life.

‘Care to try it for yourself?’ A voice at her elbow politely enquired, and Sara laughingly shook her head without even looking who it was who spoke.
 

‘No thanks. I’d make a complete fool of myself.’

‘I very much doubt that could be possible.’

Something in the tone made her look up and there he was: the tall, rather earnest Lieutenant with short, curly dark hair and the so familiar face smiling down at her. ‘Oh, it’s you. Hello again!’

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I left the jeep back at base this time. Are you ok?’

‘Quite recovered, thank you. Still a little bruised on the – er- um . . .’

‘On your butt,’ and they both laughed.

‘I expect I’ll live.’ She felt a rush of embarrassment and begged to be excused, mumbling something about having to check whether the fish supper was ready, and scurried away. Even as she ran, Sara kicked herself for a fool. Why had she fled? Not because he’d used that word, surely. Was it because of Hugh? Because she didn’t want it to get back to her husband that she’d been talking with a GI who’d asked her to dance the jitterbug with him? How very silly.

‘What was the chat about? Looked like you two were having a real spat.’ Chad shouted over the din as he spun Bette around.

‘Oh, take no notice. She’s just my sister, being bossy as usual.’

When the dance was ended, he took her over to meet Barney. ‘He’s my best buddy, so I expect you two to be pals.’

Barney was every bit as big and cheerful as Chad, and even better looking. Bette was instantly fascinated by him. Where Chad’s hair was an indeterminate brown, Barney’s was so dark it was almost black, what you could see of it since it was cut so close to the head. In contrast to the pale, insipid complexion of a regular British Tommy, his olive skin glowed with a honey tan, as if he’d spent the summer lying on a beach somewhere in the sun, or out at sea perhaps. His eyes were his most striking feature, a pale grey with a darker rim around the iris, and the eyelashes so lush and long they seemed to curl up at the tip. He looked almost Italian but as soon as he spoke, it was in very much the same southern drawl as Chad. He stuck out a hand for her to shake.