Through the Storm (47 page)

But no, there was only room for one Calum in her life, and it was tempting fate to introduce another. It was like cancelling the first one out. Sheila felt frightened that such an idea had entered her head. Perhaps it was a message from God? It was his way of telling her that Cal was dead.

‘Oh, dear God, please don’t do that to me,’ she prayed and she wiped her hands on her pinny and went back inside the house. But God had already done the same thing to so many other women. Why should he regard Sheila Reilly as special?

It was over a month since Jessica had written to Gus Henningsen. She’d almost given up on him when she received a postcard which said tersely,
Dorchester, Thursday, eight o’clock. G
.

When Thursday came, she made herself up with particular care, twisting her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She’d already chosen what clothes to wear: a plain black costume with a frilly white blouse underneath.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind staying in with Penny?’ she asked Kitty when she was ready to leave. ‘Sheila will always have her if you’d prefer to go out.’

‘Kitty read stories!’ Penny put her arms around Kitty’s legs and glared at her mother.

‘I haven’t much choice, have I?’ said Kitty. ‘I don’t think Penny’s willing to let me go even if I wanted to.’

As the evening was all her idea, Jessica left early to make sure she reached the Dorchester first. She sat in the bar and ordered a dry martini.

The barman slid the drink across and Jessica was about to pay, when a voice said, ‘Let me buy that.’ A short man with a very red face and wearing an expensive suit was reaching in his pocket. He’d clearly had too much to drink.

‘No thank you,’ said Jessica. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

The man winked. ‘That friend could be me.’

‘Unless my friend has lost several stone in weight, shrunk six inches and had an operation on his face, I think that’s unlikely.’

‘Are you being clever, lady?’ The red face turned pugnacious.

‘No, I’m being realistic,’ Jessica said coldly. ‘Please go away.’

‘Sir,’ the barman interrupted courteously. ‘I think the lady would prefer to be alone.’

‘What’s she doing hanging around bars if she wants to be alone?’

‘Look, buster,’ a gritty voice broke in, ‘if you want to keep that nose in place, then take a hike. The lady’s with me.’

‘I’m becoming tired of rescuing you from drunken middle-aged men,’ Gus complained when they were seated in the almost empty restaurant.

Jessica was conscious, in a way she’d never been with Jack Doyle, of the enormous power in his broad shoulders and bulging arms. He had removed his cap and his short-cropped hair glistened palely. If it hadn’t been for his glasses, she could have visualised him in a horned helmet standing at the prow of a Viking ship.

‘You weren’t there to rescue me when your colonel started pawing me after the concert,’ she pointed out.

‘Sorry, but I was called out on an emergency. Some of our boys had got into a fight in a dancehall in
Manchester
. The MPs had sorted them out, but it’s my job to soothe ruffled local feelings. Anyway,’ he went on with a grin, ‘you seem perfectly capable of looking after yourself.’

‘Really!’ Jessica said tartly. ‘What would you like to eat?’

He looked at her over the menu. ‘Is this meal on you?’

‘I invited you, didn’t I?’

He smacked his lips with gusto. ‘In that case, I’ll have sole to start with, followed by roast beef.’

‘You can have either sole or beef. There’s a war on and you’re not allowed two main courses.’

‘In that case, I’ll have the beef.’ He laid the menu down and crossed his massive arms on the table. ‘What’s this all about, Jess?’

‘I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I haven’t got any ulterior motive. You didn’t get in touch with me …’

‘Only because I’ve been away,’ he explained. ‘I was called to a conference in London, then did a quick tour of our British bases, flew back to the States for a week. We’re very anxious our boys don’t cause too much disruption in your country. We’d like them to be regarded as friends, not as the enemy.’

‘One of your boys has caused disruption in my house.’ Jessica told him about Kitty and Dale Tooley. ‘The poor girl’s heartbroken.’

Gus didn’t look particularly concerned. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that.’

‘I didn’t expect you to.’

The waiter arrived and Jessica gave him their order and requested a bottle of red wine. Gus looked amused. ‘This is the first time a woman has asked me out on a date.’

‘At our age, I think we’ve passed the point of who asks whom first.’

He said quickly, ‘I intended getting in touch as soon as I got back, but found your letter waiting.’

‘I’m relieved,’ Jessica said bluntly. ‘I thought you didn’t want to see me again.’

He looked amused again, but also slightly puzzled. ‘You’re very honest. I can’t help but wonder why?’

Jessica took a deep breath. Now the moment had come, she felt more than a little afraid. ‘Because I can’t be bothered pussyfooting around with all the preliminaries of courting,’ she said, amazed her voice sounded so steady and self-assured. ‘I think there’s a possibility we might be good together on a permanent basis. I could turn out to be wrong. If so, we’ll have lost nothing, will we?’

Gus no longer looked amused. He frowned at the table, looking grimmer than she’d ever seen him, as if Jessica’s words had struck him dumb with anger – or perhaps it was terror! The waiter brought their meal and he made no effort to touch it.

‘If you’ve already decided to run a mile,’ she said lightly, ‘stay and eat your dinner first. I’ll have to pay for it now.’

He picked up his fork and began to shove the food around the plate. Still frowning, he muttered, ‘I’ve decided not to run a mile. So, what happens now?’

Jessica swallowed. ‘I think we should start by being open with each other. I’d like you to know everything about me, what sort of person I am, because I’m not terribly nice.’

‘I’ve already managed to work that out for myself,’ he said cuttingly.

She ignored him, and explained about the house in Calderstones where she used to live. ‘It was what we call Mock Tudor, with five bedrooms and a double garage for the cars. Then Arthur lost the business which my father had built up, though it was just as much my fault for being so wrapped up with my own affairs that I didn’t notice what was going on. That’s when we moved to Pearl Street.’

‘I thought you looked out of place there,’ he commented drily.

‘Oh, no,’ cried Jessica. ‘Pearl Street’s very much where I belong. I was born there. My father was a rag-and-bone man. He used to wheel a handcart round the streets shouting for people to bring out their rubbish. Does that shock you?’

‘It surprises me,’ Gus conceded. ‘What surprises me most is that you admit it.’

‘When I lived in Calderstones, I didn’t tell a soul. I used to pretend I was born elsewhere, but when I went back to Bootle, it didn’t seem to matter.’

Gus had begun to eat, though he looked more interested in what Jessica had to say than he did the food. ‘Is that when you had Penny?’

‘Yes. Arthur and I never had children, and I always thought it was my fault.’ Jessica sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to deceive him, it happened so suddenly I couldn’t help myself, but then I found I was expecting Penny and I didn’t care. Soon after she was born, Arthur got a job in a museum in the Lake District, but I couldn’t stand it there. Like you, I’m a city person, so I left him and came home.’

‘Poor Arthur,’ Gus said in a hard voice. ‘It sounds like you gave him a tough time.’

‘I did. I thought he’d be happy messing round with his tiles and bits of statues, but he wasn’t. He joined the army – you know what happened then.’ Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘To do what?’

‘Tell me all about yourself! What skeletons do you have hidden in your cupboard? I’d like us to start off with a clean slate.’

He looked irritated. ‘Lady, my cupboard is bare and my slate entirely clean. There’s nothing to tell. I got married at twenty-three. My wife died two years later. I brought Peter up on my own. He’d just started college,
when
we had Pearl Harbor. Against my wishes, he decided to join the army. That’s it. That’s the story of my life. Whereas yours might fill a book, I doubt if mine runs a page.’ He finished his meal and threw the fork down with more force than was necessary.

Jessica’s heart sank. She seemed to have misread the entire situation. ‘Have I made a show of myself?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Do you think me an idiot?’

‘Yes.’

There was a long silence, during which Jessica wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She was conscious of the clink of dishes, the buzz of conversation in the restaurant, which had filled up considerably since they came in. The waiter came and removed their plates and asked what they’d like for afters. Gus wanted nothing to eat, but asked for a double whisky. ‘Or bourbon, Jack Daniels, if you’ve got it.’

‘Yes sir.’ The waiter disappeared and the silence continued.

After a while, Gus said sarcastically, ‘I thought you said there was no ulterior motive for this meeting?’

‘I was lying.’

‘Also, I’m not sure if my ears deceived me, but did you propose marriage?’

‘Only in the very, very long-distant future, once we’d got to know each other properly,’ Jessica stammered. ‘Obviously, it was a stupid idea.’

He glared at her. ‘Isn’t proposing considered the man’s job?’

‘Normally, yes.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been …’ he paused and sought for the right word, ‘… let’s say polite to wait for me to ask first?’

‘Is there a possibility that would have happened?’

His drink arrived and he picked up the tumbler and swirled the contents around. For a few minutes, he
brooded
into the golden liquid, then he shook his head in wonder and said, ‘This is one helluva night. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.’ Then he slammed the drink down on the table and whisky splashed out onto the cloth. Several diners nearby jumped and turned to see what was happening.

‘Of course it would have happened!’ he snarled. ‘It’s what I wanted the minute I first laid eyes on you, you damn crazy woman. I accept your proposal. There’s no need to wait until the very long distant future. I’ll marry you tomorrow if you like.’

Jessica felt her body flood with relief, and she bestowed upon him the most dazzling of her smiles. ‘There’s one other thing. I said I wanted to be honest with you. Now, I’m about to be brutally honest.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything else of you, Jess.’

‘The main reason I went back to Bootle was to start an affair with Penny’s father. I make no bones about the fact I used him quite selfishly because I wanted another child. The thing is, I think I might be three months pregnant. Do you mind?’

Ellis Evans, stubbornly proud and deeply religious, was mortified that her husband had openly committed a carnal sin with another woman; so mortified that she stayed indoors, convinced the entire street were laughing up their sleeves and talking about nothing else. There was a certain amount of truth in this conviction: Ellis was too virulent a person to arouse much pity. Even so, she was one of theirs, and the neighbours were only too willing to offer tea and sympathy and settle down to a good gossip over Dai’s philandering ways and Vera Dodds’ morals – or lack of them – but Ellis refused to speak to anyone. She despatched her daughter, Myfanwy, on all the messages.

There was no sign of either Ellis or Myfanwy for several days, and after people had knocked on the door,
banged
on the windows, peered through the letterbox and climbed over the wall into the back yard, they realised that number 5 was empty.

‘She’s gone,’ said the agent when he called on Jessica – she insisted he pretend to collect the rent, otherwise the neighbours would have noticed she didn’t pay. ‘There was nine and sixpence on the table and a letter to say she’s gone back to Wales. Everywhere’s been left spick and span, ready for someone else to move into. There’s already five people after it, and there’ll be dozens more once word gets round it’s vacant, what with the modernisation you had done. It must be the only house in Bootle with an electric stove. Fact, you could move across there yourself.’

‘I couldn’t be bothered,’ said Jessica. ‘I’ve grown used to this place, and I won’t be staying for ever.’

‘Do you want to put the rent up? It’s worth more than nine and six.’

‘Make it eleven shillings.’

The applications poured in, nearly fifty in all, some offering double the rent for the first week if the landlord would only choose them. In the past, Jessica had always left such matters to the agent. He might sneak a look at the prospective tenants wherever they were currently living and make sure they were respectable enough for Pearl Street. This time, however, she told him she wanted to make the decision herself. Halfway through the pile of applications, she came to the neatly written letter she’d been looking for. She gave it to the agent next time he came round. ‘I want this family to have it.’

He looked dismayed. ‘Do you realise Jack Doyle’s son and daughter-in-law live in Miller’s Bridge? It’s dead rough over there. You don’t want those sort of people in one of your properties, Mrs Fleming.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Jessica. ‘And another thing, put the rent back down to what it was.’

Sheila had told her Jack had applied for number 5 on
behalf
of Sean and Alice. ‘Oh, it would be lovely having our Sean live opposite. I tried to persuade me dad to offer the landlord a few bob extra, but you know what he’s like, straight as a die. He just came out with a tirade against landlords; capitalist filth, he called them.’

Jessica supposed it was the least she could do for the man who’d given her Penny and almost certainly a second child. She’d been sick that morning and felt queasy until midday, the first real sign of pregnancy. It was time to see a doctor.

Calum Reilly came home in August. He didn’t tell Sheila, but twenty-three ships out of the convoy of thirty-six had been sent to the bottom of the Barents Sea. Four hundred and thirty tanks had been lost, over two hundred aircraft, more than three thousand vehicles … He had no idea if anyone had bothered to count the number of wasted lives.