by Ellie Dean
Doris knew that Wally yearned to be like Lord Cliffe whose family had owned Cliffe estate and most of the land on the eastern side of Cliffehaven for generations, the ancestral title handed down from father to son. Wally’s title would die with him, and for all his money, he couldn’t escape the fact he would never be classed as true landed gentry – and Doris suspected he found that a bitter pill to swallow.
She sat there in the brief lull between the planes taking off, enjoying the stillness of the night as she watched the moon slowly traverse the sky. The wind had dropped and despite the late hour it was very pleasant to sit out here and let her thoughts drift.
This year had been traumatic, changing her life beyond all recognition, but oddly enough bringing her a sense of peace she’d never known before. First had come the V-1 attack which had destroyed her beautiful detached house in Havelock Gardens, killing Lady Chumley and some of her friends and leaving her with only the clothes she’d worn that day along with her mink coat and diamond ring.
Then within days had come the news of her estranged husband’s death, and the devastating revelation that Ted had married again, borrowed against the house, and therefore wiped out any government compensation she might have been entitled to, as well as his generous monthly allowance.
Her shock and grief had been compounded by the cold reception of those women she’d once thought of as friends, and she’d been made to realise that she’d been chasing shadows in her pursuit of trying to be someone she was never meant to be. And in that respect she was rather like Wally, which didn’t sit at all well.
Doris stubbed out her cigarette. She’d had harsh lessons to learn this year – not least, humility and a deeper understanding of the people she’d once looked down upon. If it hadn’t been for her sister Peggy’s love, and the support of Ron, Rosie and the girls at Beach View, she doubted she’d have coped.
She gave a sigh of contentment. Her work in the office was satisfying; her friendship with Colonel John White blossoming into something unexpected and really rather lovely, and she’d become closer to her sister Peggy than she’d ever thought possible. She still might not possess much in the material sense, but Rosie’s bungalow had become her haven, and she’d discovered great joy in the mundane, everyday things like tending the garden under the watchful eye of Colonel White, and taking care of the second-hand furniture which now gleamed with polish.
The old Doris would have accepted the invitation with alacrity, seeing it as a chance to step up the social ladder, and perhaps even snare a title – but the new Doris was more circumspect. Chumley might be rich and titled, but he couldn’t hold a candle to John White – not in his looks or his character. If she accepted the invitation to dinner she could be putting everything she now held dear in jeopardy – and yet she couldn’t deny she was curious as to the reason behind that invitation.
Doris considered asking Peggy’s advice, but knew in her heart what it would be. She certainly couldn’t discuss it with John, and if young Ivy got wind of it, it would be all round the town in five minutes. There again, if she did go to dinner with Chumley, everyone would soon know about it and she’d have a lot of explaining to do. The Officers’ Club was a favourite venue for some of the town’s more well heeled, and that included John White. The thought of deceiving him made her feel quite ill, for he’d been so good to her and these past months had shown her how marvellous it was to have someone at her side who was unfailingly reliable and attentive.
The thought of John sleeping innocently in the bungalow next door while she dithered about Chumley’s invitation made up her mind. She dug in her pocket for the letter, set it alight and watched it burn to nothing in the ashtray. Curiosity was a dangerous thing – especially when it involved men like Chumley, and although it would have brought some satisfaction to poke one in the eye of those women he surrounded himself with, she was not about to be drawn back into that vicious circle.
Doris blew out the candle in the lantern and went indoors, tired now, but with an easier mind, and ready for her bed.
She rose at her usual time the next morning and wrote a short note to Chumley, politely and very firmly turning down his invitation. Posting it on her way to work, she hoped that would be the end of any contact between them, and she could forget him.
Two evenings later there was a knock on the door, and thinking it was John coming earlier than usual for their nightcap after his game of billiards, she hurried to answer it.
A late middle-aged man with a lugubrious expression stood there in a chauffeur’s uniform, an all-too familiar gleaming Rolls-Royce sitting at the kerb beyond the gate. He was carrying a basket of fruit the likes of which she hadn’t seen for five years.
‘With Sir Walter’s compliments, Mrs Williams,’ he intoned, holding the basket out to her.
Doris’s mouth watered at the sight of the oranges, peaches, apricots and bananas which must have come from the manor’s hothouses. The temptation to accept the gift was almost too much but she managed to resist. ‘Please return them to Sir Walter,’ she said stiffly.
He looked startled. ‘But you won’t see the like again,’ he gasped.
Doris put on her most imperious voice. ‘I have no wish to receive gifts from Sir Walter. Take them away.’ She shut the door before he could protest further, thankful that John was still at the club and therefore hadn’t witnessed that little scene. Yet she couldn’t help regretting having to deny herself the pleasure of eating that gorgeous fruit.
The next day the chauffeur arrived in the teeming rain, armed with a large umbrella to shield himself and the enormous box of Fortnum and Mason’s chocolates which was tied with silk ribbon and bore an envelope. Doris barely gave it all a glance before sending the sour-faced man on his way back to Chumley with a terse order to his employer not to bother her again.
Her message was ignored and the chauffeur duly arrived on the wet, blustery Thursday evening with a joint of ham. Doris gave him her most withering glare.
‘Yeah, I know,’ the man said wearily. ‘You don’t want it. There’s some that’d be only too pleased to have such a thing.’
‘Some might,’ Doris snapped. ‘I’m not one of them.’ She slammed the door in his face and went into her sitting room to watch from behind the curtains as he drove the Rolls-Royce out of the cul-de-sac.
It was with great dismay that she saw other curtains being twitched. There was little doubt that speculation amongst her neighbours was growing over the regular appearance of that damned car which couldn’t fail to be recognised as Chumley’s. If this went on for much longer then John would get wind of it, and that was the last thing she wanted. But what to do about it? That was the rub.
Chumley was playing games – for she was sure he wasn’t seriously trying to court her – but what was behind it? Was this all about him using his money and position to get her back to run about after those women and do all the hard work? If so, he’d discover he’d chosen the wrong woman, she thought crossly.
But it had got to the point where it was becoming intrusive, and even a little sinister. All she could really do was hope that once it became clear to him she wouldn’t be turning up for dinner on Saturday night, he’d admit defeat and leave her alone.
To her great relief, there was no sign of the chauffeur on Friday night, and Doris was able to sleep through for the first time all week.
It had rained solidly for days and was still hammering down as Doris left the bungalow early that Saturday morning. She’d received a letter from her son, Anthony, in the first post and was looking forward to reading it once she’d prepared the office for the day’s work.
Having shaken the worst of the rain from her umbrella and coat, she set about giving everything a good dust, switched on the two-bar electric fire, sharpened the pencils, put the kettle on for tea and checked that the morning’s post was ready for John to go through. She was feeling a bit on edge, despite the fact there had been nothing from Chumley the night before, and she’d slept well.
She could only hope that once today was over, things would return to normal.
There was still time to spare before John was due to come in, so she sat down and eagerly opened Anthony’s letter. To her joy, it contained photographs of Teddy, her beloved grandson, who was growing fast and changing into a really handsome little boy. Doris pored over the snapshots with longing, and then read what Anthony had to say.
It seemed his wife, Suzy, had gone back to nursing, and Teddy was being looked after in the hospital crèche – which Doris certainly didn’t approve of, for she firmly believed that mothers should stay at home with their children. But then Suzy had always been wilful, and Doris had found it very difficult to get on with her, especially as Anthony was so deeply in her thrall he took her side in everything. The days when Doris had any influence over him were long past, and the knowledge was rather galling.
Anthony was working flat out with the MOD, but of course couldn’t say what he was actually doing, and with Suzy working too, it seemed they had little spare time to make the journey down to Cliffehaven to visit her – but there was no invitation for her to visit them, she noted sadly.
She tucked the letter back into her handbag, accepting that they all had busy lives, and until this war was over, she’d have to be content with letters, photographs and the occasional telephone call.
‘Good morning, Mrs Williams,’ said John White cheerfully as he came through the door moments later.
Doris smiled back at him, delighting as always in his cultured voice and gentlemanly manner. ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ she replied, keeping to their agreement to remain formal whilst in the office. ‘There’s some correspondence to see to before you have your meeting with the security personnel, but there’s plenty of time to have a cup of tea and get warm first.’
His handsome face lit up in a smile which made his eyes a brighter blue. ‘Thank you, dear lady,’ he said quietly, shedding his wet coat and umbrella. ‘You must have read my mind.’
They sat in companionable silence to drink their tea, and then went through the correspondence and the endless memos that had been delivered to the office from the various factory managers. Doris took dictation, and when he’d left to attend the meeting, she typed the letters and put them on his desk to be signed on his return.
She busied herself by making more tea and stood at the office window to watch the rain pouring down. She saw Peggy hurrying away with Daisy from the Red Cross Distribution Centre to join Kitty and Charlotte, but they were too far away to be called, and none of them looked up so she didn’t wave.
Peggy never liked to disturb Doris when she was working, and seeing that the office light was on, she didn’t call in after her voluntary shift at the Red Cross Distribution Centre, but accompanied Kitty and Charlotte to their little cottage in Briar Lane. They’d been working in different areas of the vast centre this morning and hadn’t been able to catch up, and as it was such a miserable day, she was looking forward to spending some time with them and their darling babies before she had to walk home to Beach View.
Both girls had been in the ATA, delivering planes of every size and type from the factories and repair shops to the airfields, but when Kitty had lost part of one leg following a nasty crash, she’d spent a long time at the Memorial Hospital learning to walk again on her prosthesis. Peggy had come to know and admire her during those stressful weeks, for the girl’s courage had never faltered, and when she’d been discharged from the hospital, Peggy had taken her home to Beach View where she’d become an intrinsic part of the family.
Kitty’s romance with Peggy’s son-in-law’s wingman, Roger Makepeace, had blossomed, and following their wedding ceremony in the chapel at Cliffe aerodrome, she’d climbed into the Oxford plane, taken the controls and flown them both off for their honeymoon in the Lake District.
Charlotte had continued flying throughout, and had married Kitty’s charming rogue of a brother, Freddy. Once both girls discovered they were pregnant, the four of them had bought Briar Cottage, which stood at the end of a rutted lane to the north of Cliffehaven. It was a tiny, long-abandoned cottage which had taken weeks to repair, extend and make habitable. Now it looked cosy beneath its newly thatched roof and trailing wisteria, the sprawling back garden a riot of vegetables and fruit trees.
Peggy hitched Daisy onto her hip to keep her out of the puddles as the girls negotiated their large, well-sprung prams over the mud and deep ruts. The three babies were fast asleep and snug beneath their blankets, and everyone was eager to get indoors out of the rain.
The cottage was kept warm by a range in the kitchen, and once the prams were stowed in the large new extension that ran along the back of the cottage, the babies were left to sleep whilst wet coats and umbrellas were shed, tea was brewed and soup heated through for lunch.
Daisy was fascinated by the babies – especially the twins, David and Hope, who lay top to tail in the pram – and was trying to clamber up to watch them. Peggy stopped her from jolting the pram and lifted her up so she could see without disturbing them.
Charlotte’s twins had Freddy’s thick black hair, dark eyes and light olive skin – but if they’d also inherited their father’s lust for life and strong will, then poor Charlotte was in for a rough ride. Kitty’s little Faith had a shock of brown hair, her skin was pale and her eyes were a shade of blue that was almost violet. She would be a heartbreaker when she was older – rather like her mother.
Peggy joined the girls at the kitchen table, settling Daisy down with a cup of milky tea and a picture book until the soup was ready. ‘I take it neither of you have heard any more from Freddy or Roger?’ she said.
Charlotte grimaced whilst she stirred the soup. ‘Kitty got a couple of letters, but they were so heavily censored they were almost impossible to fathom. As far as we know, Freddy is still in a POW camp somewhere near the Polish border with your Cissy’s American flier. I can only pray that the pair of them have given up trying to escape, because there’s a very real danger they’ll get shot now the Germans have their backs to the wall.’
‘Cissy telephoned from the airfield last night, and there’s been no word from Randy since he’s been moved there,’ said Peggy, ‘so it seems the tighter security at that camp means they’ve no choice but to behave.’
‘We’ve heard nothing from the Red Cross,’ said Kitty, ‘so I have to assume Roger’s still with Martin and the others.’ She regarded Peggy across the table. ‘I don’t suppose your Anne’s heard anything to the contrary?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘She’s said nothing in her letters, and I’m sure that if she had heard anything new about Martin, she’d ring and tell me.’
‘What about your Jim?’ asked Kitty, slicing up the loaf of wheatmeal bread. ‘Is he on the mend?’
‘He seems to be,’ she replied, taking the steaming bowls of soup from Charlotte. ‘He’s writing more regularly now, and says he’s enjoying being fussed over by all those Australian nurses.’ Her smile was wry. ‘But that’s typical of my Jim. He always did enjoy being the centre of attention – especially when it comes from a bunch of young women in nurses’ uniforms.’
She blew on Daisy’s soup and handed her a spoon, warning her to take care. ‘But I dread the day he’s sent back to his regiment,’ she confessed. ‘Which is rather wicked considering it will mean he’s fit and healthy again.’
‘Understandable, though,’ murmured Kitty, squeezing her hand in sympathy.
A heavy silence fell as they drank the delicious vegetable soup and became immersed in their own thoughts. Peggy could just imagine Jim lapping up all the attention while he enjoyed sitting on that veranda in the Indian sunshine, far from the noise and dangers of war. Of course she wanted him to recover, and was eternally thankful that he hadn’t been as badly hurt as his friend Ernie, whose spinal injury meant he would never walk again.
Peggy didn’t know why Jim blamed himself for Ernie’s plight – he hadn’t gone into any detail in his letters – but she knew it preyed on his
mind, and wished there was something she could do or say to ease that worry. But apart from writing most days, sending snippets of news from the local papers and enclosing photographs of Daisy, there was nothing she could do. Distance and the lack of any real communication was the reality of this war which had scattered loved ones to the four corners of the world, and those that were left behind just had to keep faith that the family ties were strong enough to weather the separation.
As if to remind them that life went on regardless of what was happening beyond these four walls, Faith started crying, soon to be followed by loud demands from David and Hope.
Once nappies had been changed, Kitty put Faith to her breast, and as Charlotte didn’t have enough milk to feed both twins, bottles were warmed and peace was restored.
Peggy took little Hope into her arms to feed her, and her heart swelled as long dark lashes feathered against sweet cheeks, and little hands tried to grasp the bottle. She was so like Daisy had been at this age, but as she smiled at her little girl who was leaning against her knee watching the baby feed, she couldn’t help noticing how much she’d grown. Daisy’s features were losing their baby softness and becoming stronger; her eyes and hair dark, her little nose straight like Jim’s, the set of her chin rather too determined at times which betrayed a strong will. And yet she could be so charming, with her big eyes and winning smile. There was no doubting she was Jim’s child, for they shared the gift of knowing how to get their way.
Peggy finished feeding Hope, held her against her shoulder to wind her, and then enjoyed a few minutes of cuddles as Daisy cooed and stroked her tiny feet and hands.
