While We're Apart (27 page)

‘Goodness,' breathed Mary. ‘That must have caused trouble.'

Ivy giggled. ‘Not 'alf. Old Mother Snooty went off on one like I don't know what. I ain't seen nothing like it.'

Mary smiled, for it seemed to be expected. ‘So does Mrs Williams have any family?'

‘Her old man lives in a flat above his shop. I heard tell he went off with another woman and she ain't quite forgiven 'im yet. There's a son, Anthony. He's ever so nice, works for the MOD, and only comes home now and again. He's getting married soon, and her ladyship's in a right flap over all the arrangements.'

‘You really don't like her, do you?' Mary took the cup of tea Ivy offered her and gratefully cradled it in her cold hands.

‘Not much,' Ivy shrugged, ‘but then I'm out most of the time so I don't 'ave to put up wiv 'er.' The dimples showed again. ‘I 'opes you can cook and clean, Mary, cos I'm sick of doing it all on me tod now the others 'ave gorn. That one's far too posh to get 'er hands dirty, and would probably burn water if she tried.'

Mary stared at her in shock. ‘But we shouldn't have to do that,' she protested. ‘The terms of agreement with the billeting people state quite clearly—'

‘Yeah, but that don't apply to 'er ladyship,' said Ivy dismissively. ‘If yer wanna eat in this house, yer cook. Same wiv the laundry and such – so I'm glad you're 'ere to lend an 'and.'

Mary decided she didn't like the sound of Mrs Williams at all, but Ivy seemed to be very nice and as she didn't want to cause trouble on her first night here, she made no comment. But she would go to the billeting people on Monday and find out exactly what was expected of her. She hadn't come all this way to be Mrs Williams's skivvy.

‘She keeps 'er food and stuff in the larder, and we gotta keep ours there.' Ivy opened the larder door and pointed to the top shelf. ‘Milk and that goes on the bottom shelf of the fridge,' she added. ‘There's a washing machine and dryer in a lean-to out the back, but she don't like us using them unless we're doin' 'er stuff.'

‘She sounds as if she's a real dragon,' said Mary, by now a bit befuddled by all the rules and regulations of this house.

‘Yer right there,' Ivy agreed.

They leant against the warm range and drank their tea. ‘So what's a girl from Hackney doing down here?' asked Mary as she took off her overcoat.

‘We got bombed out and me mum and nan went to live wiv me aunt in Shoreditch. I didn't fancy it, so when I heard about the jobs going 'ere, I jumped at the chance to be by the seaside.' The brown eyes were curious as Ivy looked Mary up and down. ‘What about you?'

‘I was bombed out too,' said Mary, ‘and thought it was a good chance to start afresh. I start at the Kodak place on Monday.'

The dimples reappeared in the urchin face. ‘You worked in a factory before?' As Mary shook her head, she grinned. ‘I didn't think so. You sound quite posh. But you'll be all right,' she added hastily. ‘I knows a lot of them girls, and they're a good bunch. We can walk up there together on Monday cos I'm on early shift.'

‘That would be nice,' said Mary with some relief, for she'd been dreading going on her own and trying to find her way around.

Ivy drained the last of her tea. ‘Right, come on, let me show you round while we've got the place to ourselves.'

Mary quickly finished her cup of tea, and followed the chatty little Ivy in a slight daze.

The dining room was full of dark, heavy furniture that had been polished to a gleam, and above the ornate marble fireplace was a gilt-framed portrait of a young woman in a blue silk dress and pearls. ‘She 'ad that done when she got engaged,' said Ivy with a contemptuous curl of her lip.

Mary would have stayed to admire the painting, but Ivy was already halfway out of the door and heading across the hallway.

‘This 'ere's what she calls 'er drawing room.' Ivy crossed the floor to pull the blackout curtains and switch on the standard lamp. ‘It's a smashing view, right to the sea, but you'll get a better idea tomorrow when it's light.' She gazed round the room. ‘It's ever so lovely, ain't it? Like a palace, really. Me mum would think she'd died and gorn to 'eaven if she could live 'ere.'

Mary had eyes only for the beautiful baby grand that stood in the corner. She crossed the room and almost reverently lifted the lid. Pressing her finger gently on middle C, she heard the rich tone of a well-tuned instrument.

‘No one can play it,' said Ivy. ‘I reckon she just likes to 'ave it there so people can admire it.'

Mary glanced over her shoulder nervously. ‘Do you think she'd mind if I tried it out? It's got a lovely tone.'

Ivy's eyes widened. ‘Cor, can you really play that thing – proper like?' At Mary's nod, she grinned impishly. ‘You're full of surprises, ain't yer?' She shot a glance at the clock. ‘Go on then, but be quick. She's bound to be back any minute.'

Mary pulled out the padded piano stool and sat down. Rubbing her stiff hands, she thought for a moment and then executed a series of scales to get her fingers supple. The tone was exquisite, and she forgot about Ivy and Mrs Williams and was soon lost in the sublime sound of one of Beethoven's piano sonatas.

Neither of them heard the front door, or the footsteps coming down the hall, and were completely unaware of the woman who was now standing watching from the doorway.

As Mary came to the final, haunting notes of the first movement, she bent her head and slowly took her fingers off the keys. The worry and weariness of the day had been dispelled, and she knew she could put up with any discomfort while she had access to this wonderful instrument.

‘Bloody hell,' breathed Ivy. ‘That were lovely – and you didn't have no music, or nothing. You're brilliant, Mary. You should be on the stage.' She was grinning with delight. ‘What were it called?'

Mary was blushing at the praise. ‘Beethoven called it
Quasi Una Fantasia
, which roughly translated means “Almost a Fantasy”. But it became better known as the Moonlight Sonata after a music critic said that the first movement reminded him of how the moonlight fell over Lake Lucerne.'

‘That is all very commendable,' said Doris as she strode into the room. ‘But I would have preferred it if you'd sought my permission before touching my piano.'

Mary leapt off the stool as Ivy quickly put herself behind the piano. Mary saw a carefully groomed woman in her early fifties who was wearing an expensive-looking wool dress, with real pearls in her ears and in a string round her neck. Her demeanour was not encouraging.

‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Williams,' she stammered. ‘But I haven't been able to play for such ages, and I simply couldn't resist such a lovely instrument.'

Doris dipped her chin in regal acceptance of her praise and apology. ‘You must be Mary,' she said grandly. ‘Where did you learn to play like that?'

‘My father taught me at first, and then I was lucky enough to have more formal lessons at school.'

The gaze sharpened. ‘Your father is a music teacher?'

‘No, he was a vicar.' Mary eased from one foot to the other. This was like being interrogated by a headmistress, and she didn't feel at all comfortable.

The plucked eyebrows rose. ‘A vicar? Well, well, you do surprise me.' Doris suddenly seemed to notice Ivy, and glared at her. ‘What are
you
still doing in here? You should be starting on supper.'

‘Sorry,' Ivy muttered and shot out of the room.

Mary carefully closed the piano lid and started edging towards the door. ‘I'd better go and help her,' she murmured, as desperate to escape as Ivy was.

Doris waved her hand. ‘Ivy is perfectly capable of cooking supper on her own,' she said dismissively. ‘Sit down and tell me all about yourself. I'm intrigued that a vicar's daughter should want to work in a factory.'

Mary perched on the very edge of the silken upholstery, aware that she was under close scrutiny, and that her sweater and skirt were second-hand. She took a deep breath, determined not to be cowed by this imperious woman whose accent betrayed her social-climbing ambitions, and gave her a potted history of her background and how she'd come to be in Cliffehaven.

‘I felt I needed to do something for the war effort until I start my teaching course next year,' she finished.

Doris lit a cigarette with a gold lighter and regarded her with something approaching excitement. ‘Well, I have to say it's a pleasure to meet a respectable gel for a change. You have no idea how ghastly it has been to lodge East End guttersnipes in my home.'

Mary was about to protest when she blithely carried on. ‘I do a great deal of charity work, fund-raising for the many causes that are so desperate these days. I'm sure you wouldn't object to playing at a concert here or there, or perhaps even at my son's wedding.'

Mary was horrified. ‘Oh, I'm not really good enough for things like that,' she said hastily.

‘Well, of course you are,' insisted Doris. ‘We can't allow a talent like yours to go to waste, now can we? After all, there is a war on, and you said you wanted to do your bit.'

‘Of course,' stammered Mary most reluctantly. ‘But it will all depend on my shifts at the factory, so I really can't promise anything.'

‘You leave that to me,' said Doris firmly. ‘I have a great many very important friends, and once they've heard you play, I can assure you, the manager of the factory will certainly allow you to take time off.'

‘But I have to earn a living,' protested Mary. ‘And if I keep taking time off the other girls will start to resent me.'

‘Nonsense,' said Doris. ‘And what do you care whether such girls resent you or not? They are uneducated and not at all suitable colleagues for a girl of your class.'

She stubbed out her cigarette and didn't seem to notice that Mary was silently fuming at her appalling snobbery. ‘I shall arrange for Lady Chumley and some of my other friends to call round on Sunday afternoon for a little recital,' she announced with a gleam in her eyes. ‘But we don't want anything too heavy. Perhaps a little of the Beethoven, followed by some Rachmaninov – then you could follow up with something from the stage or screen? That always goes down well.'

Mary gritted her teeth. ‘I have plans for Sunday,' she said, desperately trying to think what they could be.

‘Then you'll have to change them,' Doris told her imperiously. ‘Now run along and get settled in while I telephone Lady Chumley to make the arrangements. I think it would be better if you take the second bedroom. You won't want to be sharing with the likes of Ivy.'

‘Actually, I'd prefer to share,' said Mary coldly.

The eyebrows shot up and she looked down her nose. ‘Really?'

‘Yes.' Mary was firm. ‘Really.'

‘Well, I don't have time to discuss this now,' said Doris irritably. ‘Not with so many other things to organise.'

Mary followed her into the hall and slipped into the kitchen while she was busy dialling her friend's number. ‘She's the worst kind of snob,' she hissed at Ivy, who was peeling potatoes. ‘How on earth do you put up with her being so rude?'

Ivy giggled. ‘I ignore her,' she whispered back. ‘It's all hot air, really, ain't it? That Lady Chumley woman and her snooty cronies don't like her at all, I can tell, and they only puts up with 'er cos she's a whizz at fundraising and flattery.'

Mary rolled up her sleeves and found another knife to help with the potatoes. ‘Well, it looks as if I'm stuck with the lot of them on Sunday,' she said crossly.

‘We'll probably both be stuck, cos she'll want me handing out the tea and sandwiches,' Ivy replied gloomily. Then she grinned. ‘But at least you and me can share a room and 'ave a bit of a laugh. Thanks for that, Mary.'

Mary smiled back. ‘I'm glad you don't mind, but she was so awful, I couldn't possibly let her try and divide us up.' Her smile broadened. ‘At least I'll get the chance to play on that piano and practise sometimes – even if it does mean performing for her and her horrid friends.'

‘Good on yer, Mary. That's the spirit. I'm going to enjoy having you about and no mistake.'

RITA WAS ON
duty at the fire station, and Anthony and Suzy had already left to go to the pictures, and perhaps have a fish supper afterwards. Peggy bundled Daisy up in her knitted clothes and tucked her into the pram while Harvey excitedly skittered about the hall getting under everyone's feet. Jane, Sarah and Fran were already in their overcoats, and Cordelia was searching in her handbag for a handkerchief.

‘I do so enjoy a good evening out,' Cordelia twittered as she found the handkerchief and popped it in her coat pocket. ‘And it's lovely that you and Daisy can come too for a change. You don't get out enough, if you ask me.'

‘I'm lucky Rosie has agreed to have her upstairs,' said Peggy, who still wasn't too sure about the wisdom of taking her baby to a pub. She poked her head round the kitchen door. ‘Are you ready, Ron? Only I said we'd meet them at seven and it's nearly that now.'

Ron stomped up the cellar steps looking quite respectable for once in a tweed jacket, clean shirt and freshly pressed grey trousers and polished shoes. ‘Keep your hair on, woman,' he grumbled. ‘To be sure 'tis only a five-minute walk.'

Cordelia regarded his finery. ‘Well,' she said, ‘it's good to see you've made an effort for once. Now, give me your arm and help me down the steps. And I hope you've remembered to bring your wallet. Those poor moths must be gasping for air.'

Ron's brows lowered, but he said nothing, for he was used to Cordelia ragging him.

The girls helped Peggy get the pram down the front steps, and once the front door was slammed behind them, they set off. It was a cold, still night, with a clear sky and a sickle moon that was reflected on the sea, and although no one said anything, they all knew it was a perfect scenario for an enemy raid.