While We're Apart (34 page)

‘I'll just say it once.' Stan got up from his deckchair to make a pot of tea on the primus stove. ‘Well done. You did a marvellous thing last night.'

‘It was Harvey, not me,' Ron replied grumpily as he plumped down into the other deckchair. ‘It's a lot of fuss about nothing. I've even had that blasted reporter flashing his blasted camera at me. To be sure the only consolation I have is that by tomorrow night it will all be forgotten and the newspaper will be wrapped round someone's fish and chips.'

Stan made the tea while Ron hosed Harvey down from the standpipe and made him smell better. Once that was done they sat enjoying the sunshine as they talked about seedlings and cabbages, and then went on to discuss Jim's posting abroad, Ruby and her young, injured Canadian, and Ethel's masterly cooking.

Ron began to relax finally and removed his heavy coat as Harvey went off to explore the possibility of cadging sandwiches or biscuits from the other allotment holders. It was very pleasant in the sun, and no one bothered him with their talk of heroes and such, so he could enjoy some peace with his friend before he took the back roads home.

‘Rosie keeps a good pint,' said Stan. ‘It's always a pleasure to drink in the Anchor.'

‘Aye, she does that.' Ron puffed on his pipe. ‘But it's only because I look after the barrels and keep the pipes clean.' He shifted in the deckchair. ‘It was a good night, wasn't it? That little Mary certainly knows how to entertain a crowd.'

‘Yes, Ethel and Ruby thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and it was lovely to see all the young people having such fun.'

Ron chuckled. ‘To be sure I can see the pound signs in Rosie's eyes now the girl has agreed to play every weekend.'

‘She'll certainly bring the customers in,' agreed Stan. ‘But I pity her having to live with Doris.'

Ron grimaced. ‘Aye, 'tis not something I'd wish to be doing after she dumped herself on us when Peggy was laid up.'

Stan dunked a biscuit in his tea. ‘By the way, there's something I meant to ask you, but never got the chance last night. Do you know a Cyril Fielding?'

Ron froze with his pipe halfway to his lips. Hearing that name after so many years had come as a shock, and he could feel the hairs prickling on his nape. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘Mary asked if I knew him, and I've been trying to place the name ever since. I'm positive I've heard it before, but I'm damned if I can remember how or when.'

Ron's thoughts were churning. He wasn't really surprised that Stan couldn't place Cyril, for it hadn't been him who'd had the run-in with him all those years ago. He pressed the tobacco down in the bowl of his pipe and took his time to relight it so he could think how to respond. ‘Why was Mary asking after him?' he asked quietly.

‘I have no idea.' Stan eyed him sharply. ‘You know who it is, don't you? So come on then, put me out of my misery.'

Ron told him and Stan stared back in disbelief. ‘Good grief,' he managed. ‘But why would a young girl like Mary want to find him, of all people?'

‘That's what you're going to have to find out, Stan.'

‘Why me?' he spluttered.

‘Because she knows you a bit better than she knows me,' Ron replied firmly. ‘And I can't get involved with this. You know I can't.'

Stan thought about this as he lit a cigarette. ‘We've only exchanged a few words,' he said eventually. ‘But she seems to get on all right with Ethel. Perhaps she should be the one to talk to her?' he suggested hopefully.

Ron shook his head. ‘The fewer people who know about this, the better,' he declared. ‘I know Ethel means well, but she's got a loose tongue, Stan, and you know how gossip can spread.'

‘Aye, you could be right,' Stan muttered regretfully. ‘But how on earth do you expect me to get her to confide in me?'

‘Just be your usual self. You managed it with little Ruby well enough, and she didn't know you from Adam when she arrived.' Ron puffed on his pipe, his thoughts in a whirl as he tried to figure out the best way of going about things.

He finally came to a decision. ‘The next time you see Mary, tell her you've forgotten the name and ask her to remind you. Then you can ask why she's looking for him.' He gripped Stan's arm. ‘Do not under any circumstances let on that you know who it is. I'm deadly serious about that, Stan.'

‘All right, keep your hair on,' Stan replied grumpily. ‘I am blessed with some common sense, you know.'

Ron did, but he'd had to make certain Stan understood how important it was to shield the girl from any unpleasantness. She was, after all, very young and still innocent enough to need protection.

‘When you've found out her story, come to me and we'll work out what to do next. It might not be anything at all serious and we can just fob her off by saying we don't know him. But there's always the danger that she'll ask others about him, and sooner or later he'll get to hear about it, and that could cause a whole heap of trouble.'

‘God, what a mess,' sighed Stan. ‘I do wish you hadn't dumped all this on me. I was having a lovely peaceful couple of hours off, and now you've ruined it.'

‘I'm sorry. But it's more than my hide is worth to be seen getting involved in this one.'

‘I realise that. But you'll owe me, Ron.'

‘To be sure we've been owing each other favours for over fifty years, my friend. Now, pour me another cup of that fine tea. A man gets thirsty from all this talking, and I've yet to ask you about your spare seedlings.'

Stan grinned. ‘I might have known you'd only come up here to cadge something,' he said without rancour. ‘And I suppose you'd like one of my cheese sandwiches to go with the tea?'

Ron grinned back. ‘To be sure you know me too well, Stan, and a cheese sandwich would go down a treat. I was wondering when you'd get round to offering me one.'

IT WAS A
cold, brisk but sunny Sunday afternoon and Peggy was pushing the pram along the seafront. Ron was spending some time with Rosie at the Anchor, the girls were all out, and Cordelia had been collected by her elderly admirer to be taken to the golf club for afternoon tea, so she had the rest of the day to herself.

She hadn't lingered at the tragic sight of the great piles of rubble that had once been the Grand Hotel and two boarding houses, but had determinedly pressed on until she reached the end of the promenade. Too many people had lost their lives already, and each bomb site and every coil of barbed wire were terrible reminders of the sacrifices they were all having to make.

Havelock Road was quiet, but several people she knew were tending the vegetable patches in the park and she returned their waves as she passed. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was just after four, so she wasn't too late. Wheeling the pram over the gravel drive, she rapped the knocker, and was delighted when Ivy opened the door.

‘Hello, dear. I hope I haven't missed anything?' Peggy enquired.

Ivy grinned and helped her get the pram over the doorstep and into the hall. ‘Nah, Mary ain't started playing yet, but she'll be ever so glad to see you,' she confided in a stage whisper. ‘All the old trouts are circling, and I think she's feeling a bit trapped.'

‘That's why I decided to come,' Peggy replied. She checked on Daisy who was peacefully sleeping, hung her coat on the rack and went into the sitting room. ‘Hello, Doris,' she said blithely. ‘I hope you don't mind me gatecrashing your tea party.'

Doris didn't look at all pleased, but surrounded by her snooty cronies, she didn't dare make a scene. ‘Of course not, Margaret,' she said stiffly. ‘Do sit down. Mary is about to play for us.'

Peggy shot Mary a smile of encouragement. ‘How lovely of her to give up her Sunday afternoon to entertain us all,' she remarked with more than a touch of irony – for she knew Mary had had no real choice in the matter.

She crossed the room and gave the girl a hug. ‘I am looking forward to this, dear,' she said quietly. ‘And don't mind them, just play for yourself.'

‘Thanks, Peggy. I'm so glad you're here,' she whispered back.

‘Then I'm very glad I came.' Peggy ignored her sister's glare and sat down with only the barest acknowledgement to the other women. She poured herself a cup of tea, took a sandwich and settled back into the cushions, knowing she was behaving badly, but not caring a hoot. Lady C and her clique of smug, overdressed rich women wouldn't have given her the time of day usually, and as she disliked every last one of them, she didn't see why she should pretend she did.

‘Now that everyone is
quite
settled,' said Doris with a furious glare at Peggy, ‘I would like to introduce Mary Jones, who has very kindly offered to perform for us this afternoon. Her repertoire is quite outstanding, and I am hoping you will agree that she would be an excellent choice to help with our fundraising.'

As Doris waffled on, Peggy noticed that Ivy was standing in a corner looking very uncomfortable in the presence of so many daunting women, so beckoned her over to share her large chair. As they were both skinny, it wouldn't be too much of a squash. She poured the girl a cup of tea and, with a conspiratorial wink, offered her a piece of shortbread.

‘Mary will begin with a sonata by Beethoven,' Doris announced grandly before sitting down and giving the girl a nod.

Peggy was swept away in the exquisite sounds of the Moonlight Sonata, and when the final note faded and was met with overly polite, muted applause, she shot to her feet and clapped enthusiastically. ‘Well done, oh very well done, Mary. That was wonderful.'

There was a stony silence as the other women looked at her in cold disapproval.

Mary must have sensed the atmosphere, for she immediately began to play the first movement of Rachmaninov's Second Piano Concerto. This was followed by a selection of tunes from the most popular musicals of stage and screen, which had everyone discreetly tapping their well-shod feet.

Peggy was entranced, for she hadn't realised just how talented the girl was, and this private little recital was a far cry from the sing-song at the Anchor. As she stood once again to cheer and clap alongside Ivy, she wondered if Doris knew about Mary's successful evenings at the pub. She very much doubted it, for if she did, she probably wouldn't have even considered asking the girl to play for her horrid friends.

‘That was wonderful, dear,' said Peggy enthusiastically. ‘Now, let me go and make a fresh pot of tea while you have something to eat. I'm sure you must be thirsty after all that playing.'

‘Ivy will make the tea,' said Doris.

‘I'm perfectly capable of making a pot of tea,' retorted Peggy. ‘Ivy is not your servant.'

She picked up the pot and went into the kitchen, noting that the other women were now rather patronisingly praising Mary and badgering her with questions. Putting the kettle on the hob, she decided to go back in while it boiled. The girl would need support, and Ivy was too overawed by everyone to be of much help.

The ghastly afternoon dragged on, and Peggy stuck it out until all the women had left. Thankfully, Daisy had slept through it all, but now she was beginning to whinge and whine, and doubtless needed her nappy changing before they went home.

Peggy returned from the cloakroom with a clean and gurgling Daisy to find Ivy busy clearing away the china and napkins and Mary looking distinctly uncomfortable as Doris bossily talked at her. ‘What's the matter, Mary?' she asked.

‘Mrs Williams has organised another recital for next Saturday, but I have already made other arrangements.'

Peggy caught the desperate look in the girl's eyes and realised at once that she didn't want to make any mention of the Anchor. ‘Then you'll have to cancel it, Doris,' she stated firmly. ‘You can't expect the girl to fall in with your plans if you don't have the courtesy to ask her first if she wants to do it – or indeed is available to do it.'

‘Mary has agreed to perform a series of recitals to raise funds for the homeless,' said Doris.

‘Actually, Mrs Williams, I said I would do one.' Mary was blushing furiously and clearly trying to remain calm and polite.

‘It simply isn't good enough,' snapped Doris. ‘You'll have to change your plans.'

Peggy had heard enough. ‘Why should she? Mary has her own life to lead, and it's not up to you to tell her what she can and can't do.'

‘This is none of your business, Margaret, and I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.'

‘I'm sure you would,' retorted Peggy, ‘but Mary isn't doing your concert next Saturday, and that's an end to it.'

The steely gaze settled on Mary. ‘What is it that's so important you have to let everyone down, after all the trouble I've taken to introduce you to the cream of Cliffehaven society?'

‘If my shift at the factory allows, I've promised to play for a friend,' Mary replied. She glanced at Peggy, licked her lips and took a deep breath. ‘I play at the Anchor at the weekends,' she said in a rush.

Doris went quite white and had to sit down. ‘The Anchor? But it's a ghastly dive, full of drunks and girls who are no better than they should be. As for the landlady . . .' She gave a sniff. ‘Well, the least said about her the better. A girl from your background has no business consorting with such people.'

Mary refused to be cowed. ‘Rosie Braithwaite is an extremely nice person, and we have become friends,' she said stoutly.

‘Good grief,' gasped Doris. ‘This is worse than I could have imagined.'

‘I agree that my parents might not have approved,' Mary admitted, ‘but it's fun, and I feel I'm doing my bit by entertaining the servicemen and women who go there. Not only do they enjoy a good sing-song round the piano, but Rosie is paying me. I earned nearly eight pounds in wages and tips this weekend,' she finished in a rush.