While We're Apart (33 page)

She heard Mrs Williams moving about, and wondered what the routine of this house was in the mornings. Would she be expected to cook breakfast for them both – or just for herself? Or did Mrs Williams actually do it? It was all a bit awkward, and she didn't feel she could go down and start poking about in cupboards or making tea without asking permission first. If only she'd asked Ivy what the form was before she went rushing off. But it was too late now, so she decided she would wait until she heard the woman go downstairs.

Feeling restless and rather hungry, she made the bed and tidied up the clothes Ivy had left strewn all over the floor, then brushed her hair. Going over to the window, she drew back the thin sprigged curtains, lifted the white nets, and gasped in delight.

The view was quite magnificent, for the sun was rising above the sea and she had an uninterrupted panorama of the whole of the promenade right to the white cliffs that towered at the very end. And although the rusting ribs of the enemy plane looked forlorn amid the crumbling remains of the pier, and the coils of barbed wire and gun emplacements were ugly additions to the promenade, they couldn't detract from the beauty of the sun-gilded sea, which rolled like silk on to the pebble beach.

Mary watched the waves, almost mesmerised by their symmetry and rhythm, and then she slowly drank in the majesty of the towering cliffs with their brows of green, the long, gentle arc of the beach, and the tall houses lining the street which followed this curve.

She opened the window and leaned out to breathe in the clean, crisp, salty air, admire the clear blue sky and listen to the cries of the wheeling gulls. As her gaze drifted over the numerous rooftops to the lines of terraces that climbed the hill in the distance, she realised that Cliffehaven must have been an elegant town before the war. She could imagine the holidaymakers walking along the promenade, or sitting in deckchairs on the beach with their picnics while children paddled in the shallows. The pier would have been lit up, and offering music, dancing and variety shows – and in the hotels there would have been waiters in white coats serving cocktails to women dressed in silks and furs.

The sound of footsteps passing the door and going down the stairs brought her out of her daydream and she shut the window. Checking that she looked presentable, she took a deep breath to prepare herself, and then left the bedroom.

‘There you are,' said Mrs Williams, who was making a pot of tea in the kitchen. Her hair was immaculately groomed, and she was wearing full make-up and a beautifully cut tweed skirt and jacket over a white blouse. There were pearls in her ears and around her neck, so she was probably planning on going somewhere important today.

‘Good morning,' said Mary as she hovered in the doorway.

The gimlet gaze scrutinised her. ‘I hope you are not suffering any ill effects from your less than salubrious night out – but if you are, it is entirely your own fault, so don't expect any sympathy.'

‘I'm feeling very well, thank you, Mrs Williams, and had an excellent night's sleep. May I help with anything?'

‘No thank you,' she replied rather sharply. ‘I prefer to prepare my own breakfast. When I have done so, you may prepare yours.'

‘I brought down my food stamps,' said Mary as she placed them on the table. ‘I was wondering,' she went on hesitantly, ‘may I use the telephone to call my friend Mrs Boniface to let her know I've arrived safely?'

‘Certainly not. I cannot allow my instrument to be used by all and sundry, and I have to keep a close eye on the bills which are high enough already. There is a public telephone box in the High Street which is perfectly adequate.'

Well, thought Mary, that tells me. ‘Then may I ask where the nearest air-raid shelter is, and what the usual daily routine is?'

Doris poured out two cups of tea and placed them on the kitchen table. ‘There is an Anderson shelter in the back garden. I simply couldn't abide being enclosed with so many ghastly people in the public one behind the park. One never knows what one might catch,' she said with a sniff.

Mary made no comment.

‘Your breakfast is to be eaten in here, and you must ensure that you leave everything clean and tidy. I am not always here for luncheon as I am terribly busy with my various committees, so you may make yourself a sandwich or something. Ivy usually cooks the evening meal if she's not working, because I have a frightfully packed schedule and cannot possibly be expected to cater for everyone.' She gave a dramatic sigh. ‘I am trying to teach her the refinements of good housekeeping and cooking, but sadly she's still very slapdash.'

Mary realised she was expected to make some sort of placatory comment. ‘It must be very difficult for you with your lodgers coming in at such odd hours.'

‘It is a trial, certainly, but one does what one can in these troubled times.' She broke an egg into the pan of swirling water, placed two slices of bread in the smart-looking electric toaster and carefully drew up the sides until they clipped at the top. ‘I used to have a girl who came in to cook and clean, but she decided to leave for the dubious delights of the factory production line, so I must soldier on alone.'

Mary sipped her tea, thinking how much she disliked this woman.

‘My son has a very important post with the MOD and he occasionally stays overnight, and as I have warned Ivy, I expect you girls to conduct yourself with utter decorum – especially when using the bathroom in the mornings. My Anthony is to be married soon, and his work is stressful enough without having to see you girls in your nightclothes or listen to your silly chatter.'

Mary wondered if he was as priggish as his mother, and felt very sorry for Suzy who was marrying him. To have this woman as a mother-in-law would be a complete nightmare. ‘I met your sister Peggy last night, and three of the girls who lodge with her. She seems very nice,' she said carefully.

Doris tutted with disapproval. ‘My sister has very few refinements, and her habitual use of that ghastly public house is not something I wish to discuss.' She scooped out the egg and placed it on the golden toast. ‘My future daughter-in-law is thankfully from a most respectable and well-connected family, and although she's far too well-mannered to say anything, I'm sure she must have found it a trial to have to live at Beach View.'

From what Peggy had told her last night, Suzy was a lovely girl who had few airs and graces and worked extremely hard as a theatre nurse at the large hospital. Mary just hoped she was of strong enough character to withstand this woman's constant and undermining snobbery.

‘You may now cook your breakfast, and then I suggest you go and practise the pieces you'll be playing tomorrow afternoon.'

‘I'm not at all sure I really know that music well enough to play for an audience,' Mary replied, as she regarded the toaster with some trepidation.

‘There is sheet music in the piano stool.' Doris loaded her breakfast on to a tray. ‘I have made all the arrangements now, so you'll just have to manage.' She picked up the tray. ‘I am expecting you to do me proud,' she said and left the kitchen.

Mrs Williams was clearly the sort of woman who could steamroller her way through life and didn't care one iota if it was awkward or inconvenient for other people.

Mary gave a sigh, eyed the toaster and decided she'd just have bread and marge with her egg. She'd never come across a contraption like it before, and was terrified of breaking it. Once her egg was cooked, she hunted out cutlery and china, poured a second cup of tea, and sat down.

As she ate, she planned her day. She would practise for an hour on the piano, and then go and explore until teatime. She should probably tell Mrs Williams about the arrangement she'd come to with Rosie, but had a nasty feeling that wouldn't go down terribly well, so decided to leave it for another day. No good would come from rocking the boat so early on, and she suspected that the seas would always be choppy with Mrs Williams at the helm.

Ron woke to discover the day was half gone, and that Harvey had deserted him. He rolled off the unmade bed and groaned as he stretched. He ached all over, his hands were stiff and sore, and all that clambering down tunnels had done no favours to the pain in his back, which was particularly sharp this morning. No doubt the shrapnel was on the move again.

He discarded his ruined shoes and the rest of his filthy clothes, then pulled on his old warm dressing gown. He would have a bath and then eat something, and because Rosie wouldn't need him until tonight, he'd go and see Stan up at his allotment to ask if he had any more seedlings going spare. A walk might ease his back, and after the unpleasant fug of his bedroom, it would be good to get some fresh air into his lungs.

He stomped up the cellar steps to find Peggy and Cordelia busy in the kitchen as Daisy crawled about on the floor. Harvey was stretched out in front of the range, and he raised his head to look at Ron, his eyes soulful as his ears drooped.

‘What's the matter, boy?' Ron asked. ‘To be sure you're looking very sorry for yourself this fine day.'

‘I've given him a bath,' said Peggy. ‘He stank to high heaven and it took me ages to brush all the clumps of muck out of his fur. I've also put cream and clean bandages on his poor old paws. He's scratched and torn them quite badly after digging in all that rubble.'

‘No wonder he's looking so down in the mouth,' Ron muttered as he stroked the silky head. ‘He hates having baths.'

‘Much like his master,' said Peggy. She threw her arms round him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

‘What the divil's that for?' he blustered as he went pink with embarrassment.

‘It's for being a hero,' she replied fondly.

‘I'm no such thing,' he protested.

‘Oh, but you are,' trilled Cordelia, who was industriously chopping cabbage. ‘We've had the man from the local paper knocking on the door asking to interview you, and there have even been calls from the national papers – and just about everyone in Cliffehaven has been round today wanting to see and congratulate you.'

Ron frowned and tightened the belt on his dressing gown. ‘Well it's all stuff and nonsense,' he rumbled. ‘I'm going to have a bath, and if anyone else calls, tell them I've gone to Timbuctoo.'

‘The girl you saved rang earlier,' said Peggy. ‘She sounds terribly young, but she's on the mend and is anxious to see you and Harvey so she can thank you for saving her baby's life. She said that Matron has agreed you can go in at any time.'

He glowered at her from beneath his bushy brows, still uneasy at all the unwarranted fuss. ‘She's all right then?'

Peggy smiled. ‘She and little Louise will probably be discharged tomorrow. Her mother is coming down from the Midlands, and she and the baby will go back with her to live.'

‘Well, I'm glad everything turned out all right in the end,' Ron said. ‘Now I'll be having me bath.'

‘Try having a shave as well,' advised Cordelia with a hint of asperity. ‘You never know, you might get your picture in the papers, so you should try to look at least half respectable.'

‘Over my dead body,' he muttered as he stomped into the hall and clumped up the stairs.

An hour later Ron was walking up the High Street. His natural abhorrence for doing what people expected of him meant that he'd decided not to shave, and was wearing his favourite old corduroy trousers which were held up at the waist by a length of garden twine, a warm shirt, a thick but rather ragged sweater and his poacher's coat.

Harvey was trotting along beside him and didn't smell quite as sweet as he had when he'd left Beach View, for he'd rushed off at the first opportunity to roll in some fox droppings.

Ron was strolling along, minding his own business, and enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. But it seemed the story of last night's events had spread throughout the town, and as he tried to make his way up the street he kept being stopped by people who wanted to talk about them and congratulate him on his bravery. It was all very embarrassing, and by the time he'd reached the Town Hall he was feeling decidedly grumpy.

Harvey, of course, was delighted by all the fuss, but people soon recoiled when they smelled him, and Ron began to wish that he too was redolent of fox droppings. It was certainly a deterrent to being pestered.

He pulled down the peak of his battered cap and shoved up the collar of his coat in an effort to avoid being recognised, but as he stomped past the Home and Colonial he was almost blinded by a flash of light. He blinked and glared at the man with the camera. It was the reporter from the local paper. ‘I never gave you permission to do that,' he barked as he strode menacingly towards him.

The man edged away. ‘Would you like to say a few words for our readers?'

Ron bunched his fists. ‘To be sure I'll have a few words for you,' he growled, ‘but they'll not be suitable for your rag.'

‘Now, Ron, don't get het up,' the man said as he backed hurriedly away. ‘You're a hero, and the public want to hear your story.'

‘Well the public can mind their own damned business,' he roared.

The man shrugged – he was an old hand at dealing with reluctant interviewees – but clearly he realised it wouldn't be wise to hang about any longer. With a cheerful grin, he turned and hurried down the street towards the newspaper offices.

‘Ach, to be sure, Harvey, there'll be no peace for us today,' Ron muttered. He carried on walking up the hill. If this was what happened when a man and his dog did something that anyone else might do, then he'd had enough of it. Hero indeed. He was nothing of the sort. The real heroes were the lads doing their bit on the battlefields and in the air and seas.

He checked that Stan wasn't at the station and hurried over the humpbacked bridge and up the hill, through the wasteland that had once been home to little Rita and hundreds of others, until he came to the allotments. But even here he was called to and congratulated and made a general fuss of, so he was glad when he reached Stan's quiet corner and could hide in comfort behind his shed.