Wartime Sweethearts (29 page)

Comfortable and warm in the sitting room at the back of the bakery, Stan Sweet looked at Mary. She’d always acted in a more mature and responsible manner than her sister. He’d found it odd but also endearing. She reminded him a lot of his darling Sarah who’d had the same slim waist as her daughters, the same dauntless look in her dark blue eyes. Yes, he thought. The twins resembled her in looks, even Ruby who fussed so much over the mole on her face. Mary was the image of Sarah in her quiet air of efficient pragmatism. This evening she was quieter than usual, not really quite herself.

‘Well,’ he said, eyeing her soft dark hair, the concentrated way she was bent over the book he’d given her for Christmas.
Tales of Dickens
. He’d noticed she’d been on the same page for the last ten minutes.

She looked up. ‘What?’

When her eyes met his, he felt a sudden jolt in his chest. The ghost of Sarah lurked in those eyes. ‘You’re too thoughtful. What is it you want to say? Speak up, girl.’

Mary put down her teacup. ‘We’ve been invited to Stratham House for tea tomorrow. All of us. I did mention it to Ruby, but I wasn’t sure …’

Stan Sweet wasn’t one for going out and about as he called it. Once a week he went to the pub, usually the Three Horseshoes, where he’d sink two or three pints with some of his old chums, but on the whole he was a bit of a stay-at-home.

To Mary’s surprise, on this occasion he sighed with relief. ‘Is that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, well. What a turn up. Mrs Hicks inviting us all over for tea! Very nice of her. Very nice indeed.’

Mary shook her head. ‘Not Mrs Hicks. Her nephew, the son of the brother who went to Canada. His name’s Michael Dangerfield.’

‘He’s the one who won the regional final down in Bristol,’ her twin added in a tight-lipped manner. Mary guessed she’d never forgive him for taking half her glory at the local event and certainly not for actually winning in Bristol. ‘Not that he deserved to—’

Mary interrupted her. ‘His bread looked very good in fact, even if he did admit to knowing the judge.’

Ruby stopped pulling her hair over her left cheek and sat bolt upright. ‘I knew there was something.’

Stan Sweet raised his hands. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of this. You say it was at the Vic Rooms?’

‘Yes,’ said Mary. ‘I came out to tell you all about it, but then we heard the news about our Charlie. After that it didn’t seem important. I would have willingly let him win if it meant getting our Charlie back – and we did, so perhaps that was the price to pay.’

Ruby couldn’t quite see the connection between Charlie coming home and her losing out to a man who knew people, rich influential people. ‘We should still have reported him. It’s not right.’

‘It wasn’t right that you lied to me about dropping my loaf at the village fete. Or that you entered my loaf under your name in the first place!’

‘Girls!’ Stan Sweet had had enough. ‘It’s Christmas. Can we have some peace and goodwill here?’

‘Of course,’ said Mary. She had no wish to argue. Despite Michael’s behaviour, despite everything, she badly wanted to see him again, even if it was only to hear him apologise that he hadn’t withdrawn from the competition.

‘I have told Mrs Hicks we’ll be coming. I hope you don’t mind,’ she said to her father.

Stan Sweet made an instant decision. ‘There’s enough conflict in this world at present without us bearing grudges over a bit of baking. Of course we’ll go.’ He paused. ‘This nephew of hers. Did you say he’s in the forces?’

Mary nodded. ‘He’s a bomber pilot.’

Ruby grabbed her chance to muddy the waters just a little. ‘Go on, Mary. Tell Dad the rest. Tell him what you told me.’

‘I don’t think there’s any need for me to say anything else,’ said Mary wishing Ruby hadn’t mentioned what Michael Dangerfield had asked her.

Ruby looked as though she were about to explode. ‘All right! Then I’ll tell him. Dad! He’s proposed! Can you believe that? After two chance meetings and a couple of letters, he’s actually asked her to marry him!’

Stan Sweet beamed with happiness for the second time in so many days. ‘Then I look forward to meeting him.’

‘Can I be a bridesmaid?’ young Frances asked, her face aglow at the thought.

Mary flushed with pleasure. ‘I haven’t accepted his proposal – if indeed he was being serious.’

Stan looked surprised. ‘Well, was he or wasn’t he?’

Mary shrugged. ‘I don’t know whether he really meant it or whether he was only joking. Joking, I’m sure of it,’ she said at last, laughing while nervously rubbing the nape of her neck.

Ruby scowled. ‘Getting married is hardly a joke.’

‘On this occasion I think it is. Now. I have to get on,’ she said, getting up from her chair. ‘I’ve got some plum tarts in the oven. We can hardly go empty-handed.’

Her father got up from his chair. ‘Before you go …’

She stopped by the door. Her father spoke softly. ‘You’re right about being cautious. Young men off to fight in wars are very aware they might not come back. Death does that to a man, wanting a bit of happiness before he dies.’

The words, although logical, were also heartfelt. Mary felt a tightening in her chest. Michael might indeed have been clutching at straws, wanting to experience love and marriage while he could. And who could blame him?

Boxing Day dawned crisp and cold. Trees, lawns and the roofs of village houses were coated with what looked like a dusting of sugar.

Mary was dressed but looking in the wardrobe for a dress to wear at teatime. First she pulled out a beige one scattered with tiny flowers and a sweetheart neckline. She finally decided on a blue satin one with a keyhole neckline, puff sleeves and padded shoulders. They’d go very well with her best shoes, which had peep toes and platform soles. Never mind the cold weather. She wanted to look her best.

‘Getting ready early, aren’t you?’

Ruby had only just shrugged off her dressing gown and was currently sitting on the bed wearing only a peach-coloured brassiere, roll-on girdle and lace-trimmed knickers.

‘We might get other visitors today, and if so, I might not have time later on to get ready. You know me. I like to plan things in advance.’

‘A bit forward of him. Inviting us.’

‘He’s just trying to be friendly.’

Ruby sniffed as she rolled her stocking so she could get it on more easily without it snagging.

‘I think he’s got more than friendship in mind!’

Mary was stung. ‘He’s not like that.’

‘All men are like that,’ Ruby muttered, seemingly to herself. It was hard for Mary to tell.

Ruby concentrated on smoothing her stockings carefully up each leg as though it were the most important task in the world. In a way it was. At least momentarily. Stockings were getting difficult to get hold of and the alternatives were best suited to old women. She intended taking care of hers.

Mary glanced frequently at the kitchen clock, willing it to tick away the hours more quickly than it was doing. Teatime seemed such a long way away.

Ruby, who had agreed to bake something sweet to take to tea at Stratham House, noticed. ‘You won’t make time go any faster,’ she said sullenly.

‘What are you making?’ she asked not wishing to answer.

‘Plum pie.’

‘Won’t those plums be a bit sharp?’

‘No!’ she snapped somewhat abruptly. ‘Quite sweet, in fact.’

Ruby made a big effort to sound nonchalant. Let everybody guess why her baking was that much sweeter than anyone else’s. The sugar was well hidden behind a boxed crate in the cellar and inside a waterproof bin. A tray of mushrooms was growing in front of it in a box her father had made especially for them. As the mushrooms were picked the rest kept growing. Nobody disturbed them.

Everyone was surprised at the quality of Ruby’s baking even though there hadn’t been that much time to bake and sell bread and cakes before Christmas. Even so, she’d done very well.

Even Mary was impressed. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she said, shaking her head.

Ruby remained flippant. ‘Call it a secret ingredient.’

It gave her great pleasure to take sugar from her secret hiding place. If anyone had wondered at why her cakes, tarts and pies were so sweet, nobody had tumbled to the reason. Her secret was safe.

And let it remain so, she thought to herself.

Once alone in the bedroom, Mary reread the letter Michael had sent her. She did this quite frequently, reassuring herself that she hadn’t dreamed what he’d asked her. He wouldn’t know it, but his proposal had unsettled her and she had never been the sort to be unsettled or manipulated by a man; that was more like Ruby.

She smoothed the outfit she had selected, wondering if he’d notice how much care she’d taken getting ready. The dress material was soft and smelled of lavender. Would he like it, would he like her? Would he confirm that he really wasn’t joking?

It was after she’d cleared away the breakfast things that somebody knocked at the shop door, a heavy hand that sent the glass quivering in its frame, the door rattling.

Startled, Mary almost dropped a breakfast plate.

‘Whoops,’ said Ruby and grinned when she saw the look on her sister’s face. ‘Not lover boy already, surely!’

Mary looked at the clock. It was only ten-thirty. ‘He didn’t say he’d be calling this morning.’

He hadn’t said, yet she instinctively knew it was him, that he’d always intended to call on her before teatime.

Ruby made no move to answer the door, merely raising her eyebrows tellingly while quietly smoking a cigarette.

On opening the door, Mary found herself reassessing Michael Dangerfield’s frame and face. He had dark blue eyes very similar to hers and brandy-brown hair streaked with sun-kissed yellow. He was wearing his Royal Air Force uniform, the colour matching his eyes. His cap was tucked under his arm. He looked handsome, cheerful and full of New World confidence.

‘Hi. Nice to see you again.’ He spoke in a deep drawl in a voice as warm as his smile.

Mary forced herself to be formal. ‘Hello. I won’t say your letter didn’t surprise me.’

‘I like surprises. I thought you might like surprises too.’

‘I think I do.’

‘Now how long’s it been?’

‘We last met at the baking competition. You won. We lost,’ she said, smiling sweetly as she shook his hand.

Still he smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘You didn’t mean to win?’ She’d hoped for an apology, but hadn’t expected one this quickly.

‘Oh, I always go all out to win. What guy doesn’t? But I didn’t mean to ask you to marry me.’

‘Oh. I see.’

Actually, she didn’t see. Although she’d taken his proposal at the competition with a pinch of salt, with amusement rather than in serious regard, she had also been flattered. What girl wouldn’t be? Now he was saying he hadn’t meant to. And what about the letter?

The conversation came to an abrupt halt. They stood there, looking at each other and both searching for something nice to say.

‘What I meant is that it was unfair of me. Springing it on you like that.’

Mary didn’t know what to say or what to believe and the feeling of being flattered was less distinct.

She laughed as though she didn’t care one way or another. ‘Oh. I don’t mind. I quite like surprises. And jokes. You know, like that one about the dog that has no nose, so how does he smell …’

The words tumbled out of her mouth and finally stumbled to a halt.

He must think me stupid, she thought, aware that he was staring, his eyes looking intently into hers.

‘Sorry. That was silly,’ she murmured.

‘What was?’

‘What I was saying – that stupid joke about the dog …’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.’

‘You weren’t?’

‘No. I was thinking about your eyes. I don’t recall them being so blue. Damn it, but they’re lovely.’

‘I don’t recall … your nose!’

Mary swallowed. She could have said I don’t recall you making my legs turn to jelly before, but knew beyond doubt that it wasn’t true.

‘My nose?’

She laughed too. ‘Oh my. Now I really do sound stupid. Sorry. It just came out.’

‘No need to apologise. I’ve never had anyone admire my nose before.’

He smiled, the soft tan of his complexion emphasising the whiteness of his teeth. She guessed that piloting an aeroplane involved being outdoors a lot. ‘Quite frankly I wouldn’t be without it,’ he added.

Still laughing, Mary shook her head. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. How would you smell?’

He took his cap from beneath his arm and pointed it at her. ‘Hey. I know that joke. I heard that one on the wireless. Or was it at the theatre?’

‘I think it must have been the wireless. I’ve never been to the theatre.’

‘Well, we’ll have to do something about that.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said more demurely than she felt. Aware that the smell of cigarette smoke had followed her out, she glanced over her shoulder. Ruby was standing in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the surround, watching her through a haze of smoke. She must have overheard everything.

‘Look, I have to go,’ Mary said hastily.

Michael’s smile diminished into an amiable grin. ‘No problem. Just came over to tell you that tea is at four. You okay with that?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I’m okay with that. We’ll see you then. Oh, just one more question.’

He half turned, looking at her over his shoulder. ‘Fire away.’

‘Felix. Is he with you?’

She presumed not; Felix the dog was owned by another airman.

‘Yep! He had nowhere else to go. The skipper drew the short straw. He’s on ops all over the holiday season. I offered. Felix – and Guy – accepted. Don’t worry,’ he added reassuringly. ‘He knows you now. I promise you he’ll be wagging his tail at the sight of you.’

Mary smiled back. ‘So no more new dresses.’

‘Not unless you really need one.’

On closing the door, she avoided meeting her sister’s eyes, turning into the kitchen rather than pushing past her into the living room.

Ruby followed. ‘He seems keen,’ she remarked.

‘He’s just friendly.’

‘Asking you to marry him after a chance meeting isn’t just being friendly, though I wouldn’t put it past him that he’s out to get what he can before dumping you.’