While We're Apart (8 page)

She exchanged some mild banter with one of the airmen, and then flashed Ron a naughty grin just to let him know that although she flirted with her male customers, her heart was his.

He winked back, saw the envy in the other men's eyes, and only just managed to resist puffing out his chest like a rooster. He might be over sixty, and considered by some to be past it, but there was still plenty of life in this old dog yet, and with a woman like Rosie on his arm, he was a king.

Rosie had arrived in Cliffehaven to take over the pub some years ago and had caused a great stir amongst the male population of a certain age, for she was not only as glamorous as a film star, but it appeared she was unencumbered by a husband or children. She was also a bit of a mystery, for it was most unusual to have a lone woman owning and running a pub, and she wasn't at all forthcoming about her personal history. Yet this merely enhanced her would-be suitors' interest, and made the competition to snare her more intense.

Ron had been immediately smitten, but Rosie had kept him and all the other men at arm's length, seemingly preferring her own company, all too aware that a woman in her position could very quickly become the target of gossip. It had taken several years of making himself generally useful about the place before he'd been invited upstairs to her living quarters to share a cup of tea or a quiet drink after the pub was closed, and finally, through charm and gentle humour, he'd won her over.

Rosie was in her early fifties, though she had the demeanour and figure of a much younger woman, and liked nothing better than the camaraderie of a busy bar. Once she'd felt able to trust him, Ron had learnt that behind that sweet smile and cheerful facade lay a tragic story. Rosie wasn't footloose and fancy-free at all: she had a husband who was locked away in a mental asylum and would probably never leave it.

This was a dark shadow that lay between them, for while her husband was alive there could be no divorce. There had been little intimacy between them either, Ron thought wistfully as he watched the sway of her hips in that tight skirt. Rosie was a good Catholic girl, and she'd told him straight that she didn't mind a bit of smooching, but she wouldn't take things any further until she was free. It was all most frustrating.

The other problem was her brother. Tommy Findlay was a rotter through and through, and Ron wouldn't have trusted him as far as he could throw him. The toerag dressed like a spiv and carried rolls of banknotes in his pocket, for he was a wheeler-dealer and always on the fiddle. Light-fingered and utterly unscrupulous, Tommy wasn't averse to cheating on his wife who lived with their children further down the coast, and he treated these dalliances with total disregard for the hurt he caused. There had been a particularly nasty do many years before with Eileen Harris who worked in the local council offices, and although Ron didn't know how, the consequences of this affair had caused profound hurt to Rosie, which she still harboured.

Ron stared gloomily into his pint glass. Rosie refused to tell him what it had all been about, and so did the usually forthcoming Peggy, who clearly was in possession of the full story through her close friendship with Rosie. All he knew was that Rosie and Eileen had become sworn enemies, that Tommy had been at the centre of it all, and that Rosie still found it very hard to forgive him.

Ron grinned before he swallowed the last of his beer. He'd got his own back on Tommy for hurting Rosie – although he hadn't told her about the part he'd played in getting her brother arrested for hiding his ill-gotten black-market gains in the pub cellar while he was looking after the place during Rosie's absence last year. With Tommy in prison, life was very much better, and Ron hoped he never saw him again.

He emerged from his thoughts and looked round the bar. It was busy now the all-clear had sounded. No damage had been done in the town as the enemy bombers had headed back across the Channel, so the servicemen and women were enjoying a respite from their duties, alongside the factory girls and a few stalwart locals who regarded the pub as their own and jealously guarded their favourite places to stand or sit.

After a sing-song had begun someone had attempted to accompany it on the piano, but was so bad he was ousted from the stool and everyone carried on singing without him. Cigarette smoke lay in a thick fug along the beamed ceiling as the noise rose. The mood was happy, and no fights had yet broken out between the Yanks and the British boys over the dewy-eyed girls who clustered round them.

Ron drank his beer and looked at Harvey who lay snoring in front of the fire in the inglenook, his pup, Monty, stretched alongside him. Monty had definitely fallen on his feet since Rosie had taken him in, he thought. He'd grown a lot too, and was as leggy and ungainly as a young colt, constantly galloping about getting in the way, and chewing everything. Rosie was doing her best to train him not to ruin her shoes or the furniture, but like his sire, Harvey, he went his own way.

Ron looked from the dogs to the nearby table where Cordelia sat with the girls. None of them had planned to be out tonight, but they'd left the house so that Peggy and Jim could bill and coo in private, and had arrived at the Anchor to commandeer the table by the fire. They'd been here for over two hours, and if Cordelia had any more sherry, Ron observed with amusement, he'd have to carry her home.

Cordelia caught his eye and he grinned as he raised his beer glass in salute. She then swallowed the last of her drink and joined in the singing, heedless of the fact she was tone-deaf and trilled like a budgie with laryngitis. God love her, he thought with great affection. She might get his goat at times by calling him a scoundrel and scallywag and taking him to task, but Beach View had certainly been blessed by her presence.

He was immediately distracted by a glimpse of Rosie's magnificent bosom through the frills on her blouse as she slammed the till's drawer shut and reached over the bar for his empty glass.

‘Careful, Ron,' she teased. ‘Your eyes will pop out of your head if you stare any harder.'

‘Ach, to be sure, you're a fine-looking woman so y'are, Rosie darlin',' he purred.

‘I'd be flattered if you were actually admiring something other than my cleavage.' She took any sting out of her words with a giggle. ‘Another pint?'

‘Aye, I'll have a half, Rosie. It looks as if I'll be needed to escort a certain little old lady home, and we can't have both of us unsteady on our feet.' He admired the way she poured his drink, her slender arm flexing, her breasts rising a little as she pulled on the beer pump. He felt definite stirrings, and hurriedly looked away.

‘This one's on the house,' she murmured as she placed the glass in front of him. ‘I hear your Jim's home on leave at last, so there's a pint waiting for him too.' She smiled. ‘Peggy must be over the moon.'

Ron took a sip of the beer and then grinned. ‘Aye, no doubt she is. At least now he's home she might sit still for five minutes and not keep finding me jobs to do about the house. She's been rushing around like a headless chicken these past days and we're all worn to a frazzle.'

‘You don't look too frazzled to me,' she replied with a teasing light in her eyes. ‘In fact you look like a man full of energy.'

Ron squared his shoulders and stuck out his chest. ‘Fit as a butcher's dog, me,' he boasted.

‘That's what I thought.' Her lips twitched. ‘As you're so fit, perhaps you could change a barrel for me and bring up a few more crates?'

‘Y'are a wee tease,' he rumbled, his blue eyes twinkling beneath his bushy brows. ‘And here's me thinking you might need the use of this fine specimen of a man to help you out with something rather more interesting upstairs.'

Rosie's answering chuckle was throaty and sensual. ‘Full marks for trying, Ron, but I don't give in that easily.' She glanced at the crush waiting to be served. ‘I'd really appreciate those crates, Ron, and we're almost out of bitter, so if you wouldn't mind . . .'

He realised their short, sweet interlude was over as she turned back to serve her clamouring customers, so he cheerfully headed for the cellar to do her bidding.

Peggy had finally fended off Jim's amorous advances long enough to wash the green stuff off her face and take out her curlers while he went to see Daisy. Then they had decided to take full advantage of an empty house and were about to tumble into bed when the blasted sirens went off.

Quickly scooping Daisy out of her cot, they'd run laughing to the Anderson shelter where they snuggled together in blankets against the cold and damp, and Jim rocked Daisy in his arms until she fell back to sleep.

He'd been quite shocked at how much she'd grown during his absence, and a little put out that she didn't immediately appreciate him waking her up to hold and fuss over her. She'd eventually succumbed to his charms, though, and Jim had a contented smile on his face as he now watched her sleeping.

Despite the fact that Peggy hated the Anderson shelter, she was enjoying the intimacy of cuddling up to Jim while their baby slept in her special canvas cot at their feet. Cold and smelly it might be, but they were cocooned within its corrugated iron walls as the dogfights went on overhead and the enemy bombers ran for home, the light from the flickering oil lamp making it almost romantic.

Once the all-clear had sounded, Jim had carried Daisy back to the house and tucked her in her cot. Peggy had watched with tears in her eyes as he'd lovingly kissed her soft, sweet cheek and tenderly adjusted the blankets. It was so good to have him home again.

An hour later, Jim had bathed and changed out of his uniform into slacks and a sweater, with his feet encased in slippers. He'd eaten a huge plateful of sausages, mash and onion gravy and was now sitting in the armchair by the fire with Peggy on his knee.

‘This is what I've dreamed of for months,' he murmured as he nuzzled her cheek and held her close. ‘My billet was comfortable and cosy and, to be sure, the old ladies treated me very well before I had to go back to barracks and off on that training course. But there's definitely no place like home.'

Peggy ran her fingers through his severely cut black hair that had only a glimmer of silver showing through, and looked lovingly into his dark eyes. ‘I've missed you so much,' she replied as she kissed his lips. ‘And when your last leave was cancelled I was so disappointed and furious that, given the chance, I'd have stormed up to that camp of yours and given your commanding officer what-for.'

Jim chuckled and squeezed her closer. ‘He wouldn't have stood a chance, knowing you. My fierce, wonderful little Peggy.'

They kissed, lost in their own world as the empty house sighed and creaked around them and the rain began to fall again. Then he stood with her still in his arms and carried her into the bedroom where Daisy's night light glowed on the bedside table. Setting her gently on to the bed, and aware of the sleeping baby nearby, Jim drew her close and softly kissed her face and neck until Peggy thought she might die from pleasure.

But as his hand slowly began to inch up her leg to her stocking-tops, Peggy's desire was quenched by the realisation that she had yet to explain the rather large scar below her belly. ‘Jim,' she said breathlessly as she struggled out of his embrace. ‘Jim, could we wait just a minute? Only I've got something to tell you.'

He rose on to an elbow and frowned down at her. ‘What is it, Peg? You haven't gone off me, have you?'

‘No, of course not, silly.' She paused as she tried to think of the best way to tell him.

Jim sat up then, his frown deepening. ‘I know it's been a while,' he said, ‘but you were keen enough earlier on. What's changed?'

Peggy could see how tense he was and hurried to reassure him. ‘Jim, something happened a few months ago which I didn't tell you about because there wasn't anything you could have done, and I didn't want you worrying,' she said all in a rush. ‘And then there seemed no point in mentioning it as everything is all right now.'

His handsome face paled. ‘What the divil happened to you, Peg? You weren't attacked by someone, were you?'

Peggy was horrified that she was making such a mess of this. ‘No, Jim, no. I was ill, and had to go into hospital for an operation, but as you can see I'm perfectly all right, so there's no need to fret.'

‘An operation?' His expression was fearful and shocked in equal measure.

His concern twisted her heart, so she quickly went on to tell him about the ectopic pregnancy and the life-saving operation she'd had to have following the bomb blast that she'd been caught in. His very real anguish brought tears to her eyes as she told him there would never be any more children.

‘Good God,' he breathed as he pulled her into his arms. ‘You shouldn't have had to keep all this to yourself. Why on earth didn't you tell me at once?'

‘Ron sent a telegram, but it must have got lost, or not passed on when you moved barracks.' She touched his face, feeling infinitely better now that everything was out in the open. ‘Once I was on the mend, I decided to wait until you came home to tell you. You have enough to cope with without having to worry about me.'

‘I worry about you every day we're apart,' he muttered. ‘I should have been here. You should have told me and not struggled on all on your own.'

Peggy was about to tell him she hadn't been on her own at all, when his lips silenced her and his hands began to move over her body, making her feel all unnecessary.

‘I don't want to hurt you, Peg,' he murmured against her mouth. ‘Is it all right if we . . .?'

‘Yes, oh yes,' she whispered.

It was quite a long time later before they lay still and sated in each other's arms, the warm glow of the night light bringing an added sense of comfort and security as they listened to the rain spatter against the window and the sound of their sleeping daughter's soft snuffles.