Poppy's War (11 page)

‘I won’t tell a soul,’ Poppy said, touching the glass heart which was now her talisman against all evils. ‘When will he be here?’

‘On Sunday; Christmas Eve,’ Amy said happily. ‘This is going to be the best Christmas ever.’ She paused as she was about to hang a large red ball on the tree. ‘I’m so sorry, Poppy. What an idiot I am. I’d quite forgotten that this will be your first Christmas away from home.’

‘That’s okay. I was upset at first when Mum told me I was to stay on here, but at least I know they’re safe and well at home.’ Poppy curled her fingers around the glass pendant that hung around her neck. ‘Mum thinks the war will be over soon.’

‘Let’s hope so, Poppy. I sincerely hope she’s right.’

The house seemed to burst into life on Christmas Eve, and even Violet seemed less surly than usual when she slapped Poppy’s breakfast tray down on the day nursery table. ‘I’m off as soon as I’ve cleared the dining room, so you won’t get waited on hand and foot until Wednesday when I’m back on duty. You’ll have to look after yourself for once, Popeye.’

‘I’d be quite happy to fetch my tray from the kitchen,’ Poppy said warily. ‘It wasn’t my idea to eat on my own up here.’

Violet shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘But you’re one of them now. Look at you, all dolled up in them nice clothes Miss Amy bought for you. I wish I had a fairy godmother to spoil me like that.’

‘She’s very kind,’ Poppy said quietly. ‘I never asked for any of this.’

‘No, but you got it anyway. I wish I’d been evacuated from bloody Barton Lacey and sent somewhere glamorous like Hollywood. I’d love to be in pictures; maybe I will one day.’ She whisked out of the room without giving Poppy a chance to reply, although she had given up sparring with Violet long ago. She found it easier to ignore the silly nickname and her constant sniping.

When she had finished her bowl of porridge laced with brown sugar and cream, and eaten two slices of toast covered in Mrs Toon’s homemade strawberry jam, Poppy decided to take the tray back to the kitchen and save Violet’s legs. In any case, she had purchased small presents in Woolworth’s for the servants below stairs with the half-crown that Amy had slipped into her hand telling her to spend it on herself.

The aroma of boiling ham and hot mince pies floated up the back stairs as Poppy made her way to the kitchen. The fierce heat hit her like a slap in the face as she pushed the door open with the toe of her shoe. Mrs Toon was up to her elbows in bread dough while Nancy, who had been taken on to help in the kitchens during the Christmas festivities, was stirring something in a pot on the stove and Olive was busily polishing silver cutlery and placing it on a tray. Violet clattered in from the scullery carrying a tray laden with clean plates. ‘I never meant you had
to
start today, Popeye,’ she muttered.

Mrs Toon stopped kneading the dough. ‘What’s going on, Violet?’

‘I didn’t tell her she had to bring the tray down, honest, Cook.’

Mrs Toon wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her floury hand, leaving streaks of white on her flushed skin. ‘We’re a bit busy as you can see, miss.’

‘I haven’t come to disturb you,’ Poppy said, looking around for a clear space in which to place the tray, but all the work surfaces seemed to be covered with plates of food and baskets of vegetables waiting to be peeled. ‘I brought you a small present each,’ she added shyly.

‘That was kind, miss.’ Mrs Toon nodded to Violet. ‘Take the tray from Miss Poppy and put it in the scullery.’

Violet sidled forward to snatch the tray from Poppy’s grasp. ‘Bet you didn’t get nothing for me,’ she hissed.

Poppy put her hand in her skirt pocket and pulled out two small packages. ‘I did as it happens.’ She placed one of them on the tray. ‘I hope you like it.’

Violet’s mouth formed a small circle of surprise as she peeled off the paper to reveal a pair of clip-on earrings. ‘Oh, thanks. You shouldn’t have.’

‘It’s Christmas,’ Poppy said, walking past her to give the larger present to Mrs Toon. ‘It’s only small, I’m afraid. I couldn’t afford a big bottle.’

Wiping her hands on her large white pinafore, Mrs Toon tore off the paper and her face crumpled into a smile. ‘Evening in Paris, my favourite scent.’

Olive left the tray she was preparing to take upstairs and glanced critically at the gift. ‘Very nice too,’ she remarked stiffly.

Poppy plunged her hand in her pocket and brought out another package. ‘For you, Olive.’

Olive sniffed and took the present gingerly, as if she were afraid it might bite her fingers off. ‘I didn’t expect anything neither.’

‘Well, open it, you silly girl,’ Mrs Toon remonstrated cheerfully.

‘And where’s mine, Popeye?’ Nancy demanded with a curl of her lip. ‘Don’t suppose you got anything for the likes of me.’

‘Why don’t you wait and see?’ Poppy kept her hands in her pockets while she waited for Olive to rip the paper off her present.

‘Very nice too.’ Olive held up the string of glass beads for the others to admire. She smiled. ‘Thanks, Poppy.’

‘All right for some,’ Nancy muttered beneath her breath as she stashed the clean crockery away in the oak dresser.

‘I almost forgot,’ Poppy said, making her way round the table to hand a small flat package to Nancy. ‘Here’s yours.’

Ripping off the brown paper, Nancy stared at the diary, frowning. ‘Ta! Very nice I’m sure.’

‘I thought you could keep your dates with young gentlemen from getting muddled up,’ Poppy said sweetly.

‘Who told you about that?’

‘Sally Pitman’s in my class at school. Everyone knows you stood her brother up last week.’ Poppy had the satisfaction of seeing Nancy looking distinctly put out. She opened her mouth to reply but a loud jangling from the bell board made everyone turn with a start.

‘Olive, front door,’ Mrs Toon said, straightening her white cap. ‘They’ve started arriving already and here am I, all behind like the cow’s tail.’

Poppy’s heart did a convulsive leap inside her chest. She had kept the secret so well that she had almost forgotten that Guy was due today. She raced after Olive as fast as her legs would carry her.

Chapter Six

TO POPPY’S INTENSE
disappointment it was Pamela who entered first, resplendent in a sable coat with a matching Cossack-style hat and high-heeled shoes that were totally unsuitable for walking anywhere, let alone on stony country lanes. Hector followed her with Rupert in his arms and their chauffeur, Harper, brought up the rear with their luggage. Marina emerged from the drawing room, holding out her arms. ‘Pamela, darling.’

Leaving a waft of expensive perfume in her wake, which Poppy guessed had cost more than a shilling in Woollies, Pamela glided across the floor to kiss her mother. ‘It’s good to be home, Mummy.’

Hector put a squirming Rupert down on the floor. ‘Go and say hello to your grandmama, there’s a good chap.’

But instead of toddling towards his grandmother Rupert flung himself at Poppy with a cry of delight. ‘Poppy.’

Marina bristled visibly. ‘As the boy seems to prefer you, Poppy, I suggest you take him upstairs to the nursery.’ She beckoned to Hector. ‘Come into the drawing room where at least the temperature is
above
freezing. Olive will see to your luggage.’

They disappeared into the drawing room, and Olive picked up the suitcases. ‘Olive do this; Olive do that. Where’s their Christmas spirit, that’s what I’d like to know?’ She pushed a smaller valise towards Poppy with the toe of her shoe. ‘Make yourself useful and take this one. It looks like it might belong to the kid.’ She stomped off, hefting the cases up the main staircase with a mutinous look on her face that dared anyone to challenge the fact that she had not taken the back stairs.

Left alone in the entrance hall with Rupert and the huge Christmas tree, Poppy realised that as far as Mrs Carroll was concerned she would always be on a par with the servants. In fact she was probably less valued than Violet or Olive because she had no useful part to play in the day to day running of the house. Rupert tugged at her hand and she smiled, swinging him up in her arms. ‘You’re pleased to see me at any rate. Look at the pretty tree, Rupert.’

‘Poppy,’ he said, tugging her hair.

‘Come on then,’ she said, settling him on her hip as she picked up the valise. ‘Let’s take you to the nursery. They’ve lit a fire in your honour, which is more than what I get.’

It was a reluctant Nancy who brought them their lunch, grumbling that she had to do Violet’s work as well as her own and it wasn’t fair. Poppy said nothing.

When they finished their meal, she took Rupert
into
the bathroom and changed his nappy. She washed his hands and face put him down for his nap. Even though he fought sleep he succumbed quickly. She gazed down at him and felt a tug of something like love even though he was not related to her in any way. His eyelashes formed golden crescents on his rosy cheeks and his soft fair baby curls spread out on the white pillowcase. She crept out of the room, leaving the door ajar so that she could hear him when he awakened.

She went to sit on the window seat, gazing down onto the driveway at the front of the house. The Pallisters’ car, a large black limousine, was where they had left it but there was no sign of Guy’s roadster. She sighed and picked up a copy of
Vanity Fair
that she had borrowed from the school library, but she could not concentrate on the exploits of Becky Sharp, even though their situations were in some way similar. She found herself wondering what Mum and Gran were doing now. She could imagine them sitting round the kitchen table peeling spuds for roasting with the bird next day. Dad would come home later with a goose or a turkey that he had bought last thing from Smithfield Market where bargains were to be had if you waited until closing time. Joe would bring beer for himself and Dad, and a bottle of gin for Mum and Gran. Tea would be toasted crumpets and margarine with mince pies to follow, and afterwards they would sit round the fire and roast chestnuts on the coal shovel. She could
smell
the fragrance of red hot chestnuts and the spicy aroma of mince pies. She always left one out for Santa Claus with a glass of beer, which was empty next morning. She knew now that it was Dad who drank the beer and probably Joe who ate the pie, but when she was younger she had firmly believed that the jolly old man in the red hat had come down the chimney to fill her stocking.

A whimper from the nursery made her jump to her feet. Outside a pale watery sun had fought its way through the clouds. On an impulse she decided to dress Rupert in his outdoor clothes and take him to his favourite spot by the lake to feed the ducks. Visiting the kitchen first, she was relieved to find that Mrs Toon seemed more kindly disposed towards her after the gift of perfume, and she gave them some stale bread for the ducks and two fingers of freshly made shortbread for themselves.

Outside, as Poppy had hoped, the air was crisp and cold and the threat of snow seemed to have blown away on the westerly wind. Their feet crackled on the dead leaves underfoot and the sun’s feeble rays reflected off the dark water of the lake. The ducks quacked and waddled over, greedily snapping up the chunks of bread as Rupert tossed them inexpertly into the water. When the last crumb had been swallowed the ducks paddled their way back to roost on the small island in the middle of the lake. A cold wind whipped through the bare branches of the trees as the sun plummeted towards
the
horizon and Poppy took Rupert by the hand. ‘Time to go indoors, love.’ He looked up at her and grinned, licking the last crumbs of shortbread from his lips. ‘More ducks,’ he said hopefully.

‘More ducks tomorrow.’ They set off walking slowly towards the house, but the sound of a car coming up the drive made her stop. She did not have to look to know it was Guy’s roadster, but as she turned slowly her heart gave a great lurch as she saw him at the wheel resplendent in his RAF uniform. Amy was sitting beside him in the passenger seat with Algy balancing precariously on the dicky seat. Snatching Rupert up in her arms she ran towards the drive, waving frantically. Guy smiled when he saw her and she felt as though she was going to burst with happiness. By the time she caught up with them they were unloading the car.

Light from the entrance hall spilled onto the steps as Pamela emerged from the house, closely followed by Hector. She paused on the bottom step, staring at Guy in astonishment. ‘You idiot, Guy, why didn’t you tell us you’d enlisted? Just wait until Mother finds out.’

‘I didn’t say anything because I knew there’d be a fuss, Pam. This way it’s a fait accompli.’

‘I know what that means.’ The words tumbled from her lips before Poppy could stop herself. Everyone turned to look at her and she felt the colour rush to her cheeks.

Guy ruffled her hair. ‘It’s good to see you again,
Poppy
. Amy’s told me how well you two have been getting on.’

‘For heaven’s sake come indoors,’ Pamela said, folding her arms about herself with an exaggerated shiver. ‘It’s freezing out here. Poppy, take Master Rupert upstairs to the nursery; I don’t recall giving you permission to take him out.’

Hector put his arm around her shoulders. ‘The boy needs fresh air and exercise, Pam. You mollycoddle him.’

‘I do not.’ Pamela broke away from him and mounted the steps, tossing her golden hair so that it caught the light.

She has a pageboy bob just like Ginger Rogers, Polly thought wistfully. She wished that her hair was that shade of blonde instead of being dark. Even when it was confined to two long plaits she could not quite control the strands that escaped to curl in tendrils round her face. She jumped at the sound of Amy’s voice.

‘Do go indoors, Poppy dear; it really is getting very cold.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And don’t take too much notice of Pamela. She doesn’t mean to be sharp with you.’

Algy staggered past them with his arms filled with packages tied with coloured ribbon. ‘Give me a hand, old girl. There’s more in the car. I think Guy’s bought up the whole of Oxford Street.’

With a suitcase in each hand, Guy followed him up the steps. ‘Don’t listen to him, Amy. You’re the
one
who shouldn’t be standing outside in this weather. Take the children indoors.’