On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  Ted Williams had been a popular man and half the town had turned out for the short memorial service that was held for him and his new wife, but the people of Cliffehaven had only known him as the cheerful manager of the Home and Colonial who was always ready for a chat and slipped them an extra ounce of cheese or a can of beans from under the counter – not the husband who’d cheated on her for years, secretly remortgaged her home to pay off his debts, and left her with nothing.

  Doris still smarted from that final betrayal, and when that spike of fury threatened to unsettle her, she determinedly squashed it. She’d survived it all to find satisfying, well-paid work and happiness in her rented bungalow, and after last night, she had very high hopes of a bright future with John.

  The nights were drawing in, and by four it was already dark. Doris finished the last letter, added a stamp and placed it on top of the others. Being Sunday there was no postal collection, but she’d put them in the box tonight for the early one tomorrow morning.

  ‘I hope we never have to do that awful task again,’ she sighed, collecting the pile of envelopes and slipping them into her handbag.

  ‘It’s never an easy job,’ agreed John, sitting back in his chair to stare down at the dimly lit factory estate. It was raining again, the wind strengthening to blow dead leaves and debris across the deserted walkways. ‘How about we have a cup of tea before we head for home? The rain may have stopped by then.’

  Doris thought that was highly unlikely but didn’t argue. She didn’t fancy the walk home either, and a cup of tea would be welcome after licking all those stamps and envelopes. Minutes later they were sipping the tea, warmed by the two-bar electric fire and feeling cosy as the rain splattered against the window and hammered on the tin roof.

  ‘How’s your throat?’ John said. ‘I forgot to ask with all that’s been going on.’

  ‘It’s still a bit tender, but nothing I can’t deal with,’ she replied, smiling to reassure him – although in all the chaos, she’d barely noticed it.

  ‘Jolly good,’ he replied. ‘And you’ll be delighted to hear that you’ll never see Chumley again.’

  ‘That’s a comforting thought, John. But how can you be so sure?’

  He leaned forward and took her hand. ‘Do you remember that I was called to that emergency committee meeting at the Officers’ Club yesterday afternoon?’

  Doris’s smile was wan. ‘Was it only yesterday? It feels like a lifetime ago.’

  ‘Certainly a great deal has happened since,’ he agreed. ‘But that meeting was called because some serious discrepancies were found in the club’s bar records. Bottles of spirits and hundreds of cartons of cigarettes couldn’t be accounted for.’

  Doris stiffened and gripped his hand as she thought about the upright Admiral Falkner who was in charge of ordering stock for the bar and undertook his responsibility with meticulous attention to detail. ‘Surely they don’t suspect Peter Falkner?’ she gasped.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ John said firmly, clearly shocked by the idea. ‘It was Peter who alerted the committee to the discrepancies. He’s only been in charge of stocking the club’s cellars for three months, and being an honest man, rather took it as read that the previous incumbent had kept proper records of purchases and sales.’

  Doris didn’t interrupt. She had a fair idea where this was leading.

  ‘Admiral Falkner might be retired from the navy, but he’s a busy man with a great many other commitments, and when he finally had the time to sit down and go through the books, he began to suspect foul play. He said nothing to the committee until he’d had time to investigate. Having spoken to our suppliers and gone through the order sheets and invoices with them, the culprits were revealed and he immediately called that extraordinary meeting.’

  John paused for breath. ‘I can see you’ve already guessed who was at the heart of it all, Doris, and to be honest, it was hardly a surprise to any of us.’

  ‘If that was the case, then why was he on the committee in the first place?’ Doris asked.

  ‘Chumley had been elected onto it some years ago because his title gave the club a certain kudos, and he was deemed upright and honest enough to be put in charge of ordering the bar stock.’ John grimaced. ‘It just goes to show how a title can blind perfectly sensible people into making bad judgements.’

  ‘Chumley and his wife fooled a lot of people,’ Doris murmured. ‘As I know to my cost.’

  John stubbed out his cigarette rather forcibly before continuing his story. ‘Three months ago, the committee began hearing complaints about Chumley reneging on his debts. His club membership hadn’t been paid for almost a year, and his bar bills were adding up to a serious amount. He’d been given leeway because of his wife’s death, but it was felt he was now taking liberties, so we agreed that he should be voted off the committee, and relieved of his victualling duties. I must say I was glad to see the back of him, and I think most of the other committee members felt the same.’

  ‘So, he was up to his old tricks,’ murmured Doris.

  ‘Indeed he was, Doris. During his time on the committee he’d found someone at both wholesalers who wasn’t averse to making some money on the side. He’d put in an order for three cases of whisky, say, bill it to the club, and then sell one off and share a portion of the profit with the warehouseman to keep him sweet. The same with the cigarettes and tobacco. He had quite a business going until the Admiral took over.’

  ‘He’s not going to be allowed to get away with it, is he?’ gasped Doris.

  ‘Our chairman reported it to the police immediately, so I suspect he arrived home yesterday to find the police waiting there to arrest him.’

  ‘That’s marvellous news,’ she breathed. ‘And if James Harcourt can find evidence of him skimming the charity money, it should keep him in prison for many years to come.’

  ‘I telephoned James straight after the meeting, so he’s well aware of their decision and the reason behind it. He told me he’s got enough evidence of laundering the charity monies to take to the police now. So it really is over, Doris.’

  Close to tears with relief, she grasped John’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘Without your help, Chumley would have got away with it.’

  John smiled bashfully at her praise and then looked out of the window. ‘It’s stopped raining,’ he said. ‘Let me get you home before it starts again.’

  They turned everything off and locked the door behind them to go arm in arm through the estate. The factories were humming with activity as the shifts changed and the canteen became busy, the lights spilling from the lightly dimmed-out windows across the wet concrete and oily puddles. The sense that nothing would stop the war effort despite the terrible losses that had been incurred made Doris feel very positive – and the thought that Chumley would get his just deserts was the icing on the cake.

  Having put the letters in the box, they bent their heads to the wind and hurried on to Ladysmith Close. Doris opened her front door, eager to be in the warm and looking forward to another night of passion.

  ‘I haven’t even thought about supper,’ she said, shedding her coat. ‘But there is some stew left over which I could heat up.’

  ‘I won’t stay for supper, if you don’t mind, my dear,’ he said.

  The disappointment was sharp. ‘Oh, but I thought …’

  ‘It’s been a long day, Doris, and neither of us got much sleep last night,’ he said, giving her a rather bashful smile.

  ‘Yes, of course, you’re right,’ she said quickly, although she didn’t feel at all tired – in fact, she hadn’t felt this alive in years. ‘It’s probably better we both get a good night’s sleep after … after …’

  John took her hands and drew her close. ‘It was a wonderful night, Doris,’ he murmured, ‘and I will hold it in my heart forever, but …’

  ‘But?’ She pulled her hands from his grasp, her desire drenched by a cold wash of sudden doubt. ‘Was last night all you wanted from me?’

&n
bsp; ‘Not at all,’ he said urgently, grasping her arms. ‘I love you, Doris, and can think of nothing I want more than to be with you every night. But I’m not in a position to ask you to marry me, and it wouldn’t be fair to you, or your reputation, if we continued to sleep together without the respectability of a wedding ring.’

  Doris’s heart missed a beat and then began to race – she hadn’t expected him to talk of marriage. ‘But we don’t have to make things formal between us,’ she said breathlessly. ‘We could carry on as we are and to heck with my reputation – which is probably already hanging by a thread after today.’

  ‘My dearest girl; if only we could,’ he said sadly. ‘Last night was wonderful – you are wonderful – but we acted in haste, Doris, without any thought for the consequences.’

  Doris was beginning to wonder if he was trying to finish things between them but was too gentlemanly to say it outright. ‘I’m hardly likely to get into the family way,’ she said with a brittle little laugh, ‘so I don’t really understand what other consequences there could be.’

  He seemed lost for words and she regarded him squarely. ‘Are you trying to tell me you regret last night?’

  ‘No, no, no. That’s not it at all,’ he replied, dragging his fingers through his thick silvery hair in agitation. ‘If I could, I’d get down on one knee right now and ask you to marry me. I love you and don’t want to lose you, but I have others to consider before I make such a commitment.’

  Doris suddenly understood. ‘You’re worried about how your son would feel, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ he said, reaching once more for her hands. ‘Michael lost his mother shortly before he was taken prisoner, and although I write regularly to him, I’ve only ever received a few standard POW postcards from him. I don’t even know if he’s received those letters, and if he hasn’t, he’ll know nothing of my life since I retired from the army – and certainly nothing about you.’

  Doris could see the conflict of love and loyalties in his eyes and her heart went out to him as he drew her closer.

  He rested his chin lightly on her head. ‘Life in a POW camp must be fraught with danger and difficulty and for all I know he could still be grieving for his mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of him coming home at the end of the war to find that I’d married again. He’d think I’d forgotten her, you see. They were very close.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Doris murmured. ‘There’s a special bond between mother and son, which I have with my Anthony.’ She didn’t add that the bond had been severely frazzled since Anthony had married Suzie. This was not the moment.

  ‘Would your son approve of you marrying again so soon?’

  Doris almost smiled at the irony of the situation with her beloved son. ‘Ted and I were separated for a long time before the divorce, and he married again the same weekend he and his new wife were killed. My Anthony loved his father, but he has his own life now and I doubt he’d have any objections to me finding happiness again.’

  ‘And do you think you could be happy with me?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, her heart beating wildly at the idea of spending the rest of her life with him.

  He kissed her passionately and then firmly drew back. ‘I know it’s asking a great deal of you, Doris, but we must be strong,’ he said, ‘and patient – and not allow our passions to rule us. Once this war is over and my boy is home, he’ll have the chance to get to know you – just as your son needs to get to know me. And then we can make things formal between us.’

  Doris understood that he loved his son and was only trying to do the right thing, but she was a bit miffed at the idea of having to wait until the son approved – or otherwise. And what if he was against it? What were they supposed to do then? Just forget the whole thing and walk away? The thought twisted her heart.

  ‘But we can still share suppers and cosy evenings by the wireless?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Of course we can, Doris. We’ll go on as before last night. Nothing has changed between us, and it never will.’ He kissed her, gave her a hug and then opened the front door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, and take you out to dinner at the club to celebrate Chumley’s downfall.’

  Doris returned his cheery wave and closed the door. He’d said that nothing had changed, but it had. She’d experienced the sweetness of loving, passionate intimacy with a man she’d come to adore, and she wanted more. But the sense of honour and correctness that had so drawn her to him was now setting them apart. Did he really mean for her to live like a nun? Could they continue to share almost every moment of every day without succumbing to the needs that had been awoken in both of them?

  She gave a sigh of frustration and headed into the kitchen. Only time would tell.

  11

  Over two weeks had passed since the V-2 attack, and it broke Ron’s heart to see poor Harvey still wandering about the house and garden looking for Queenie. He was clearly deeply puzzled by her absence, and missing her company.

  Cordelia missed the morning ride down on the stairlift with her on her lap, and Peggy was finding it distressing not to see her stretched out by the fire or sitting on her shelf, keeping an eye on everyone. The girls seemed to have accepted she’d gone, and little Daisy had been far too excited about her upcoming birthday party to think of anything else.

  Cordelia’s eightieth birthday celebrations had been a little muted as they’d followed so soon after the devastation of that attack, but everyone had enjoyed the sumptuous meal at the golf club, which had been followed by a very lively evening in the Anchor. Bertie had driven Cordelia home and Ron had had to carry her up the stairs, for she was out for the count after too much excitement and far too many sherries.

  Ron had been intrigued by the rumours that were flying about of Wally Chumley being arrested, but it seemed that anyone who was in the know wasn’t talking. As Chumley had been seen with two black eyes and a bloodied nose shortly before his arrest, the gossips were having a field day; speculating on the whys and wherefores with increasing flights of fancy that often bordered on the ludicrous. It was only when his short court appearance was announced in the newspaper that anyone knew he’d been charged with theft and the misuse of charity money and refused bail – but that only ground the rumour mill even harder.

  However, even that scandal couldn’t eclipse the day-to-day struggle of trying to remain cheerful, keeping the larder supplied and staying warm as December arrived, and winter began to really bite with chill winds and icy rain. Coal was at a premium, and the scrappy bits of low-grade anthracite and coal dust they had managed to get barely kept the range going at Beach View, so it was hot water bottles and blankets all round in the evenings as they sat in the kitchen listening to the wireless. But at least the county surveyor had passed Beach View as habitable, and that had come as a huge relief.

  The war news was the usual mixture of victories and defeats. The Tirpitz, which had been hiding in the Tromso Fjord, had at last been sunk by 617 Bomber Squadron; Patton had begun a new offensive in Holland; the Home Fleet had sunk almost an entire enemy convoy off the coast of southern Norway, and the French troops had driven through the Belfort Gap to the Rhine to capture Strasbourg.

  However, yesterday morning it had been reported that the political unrest which had been growing since the liberation of mainland Greece had escalated into civil war, and the Allies had placed Athens under martial law – and the 14th Army was still battling it out against the Japs in Burma.

  Ron wondered if the Burma campaign would ever end, for it was being continually hampered by the monsoon, which meant that the whole thing had been dragging on for years – long before his Jim had been sent there. And yet the Allies held the advantage, even through the monsoon, for the Japanese didn’t have the same reliable supply network of air and land support, and it was becoming clear that although there were still small pockets of resistance, the Japanese were slowly being weakened through lack of food, transport and ammunition.

/>   Setting all these thoughts aside, Ron straightened his tie and regarded his reflection in the bedroom mirror. He didn’t look too bad for a man in his sixties, he decided, although he felt like a trussed-up turkey in the starched collar and tie Rosie had rather firmly insisted he wear. It was Sunday, and as the Anchor was closed, they were going for a late lunch and leisurely drink at the Officers’ Club to avoid the horde of small children who would be arriving later for Daisy’s birthday party – although she wouldn’t actually turn three until Thursday.

  Shuddering at the thought of that noisy invasion, Ron picked up Jim’s blue fedora. As he gave it a brush, he regarded Harvey snoring on his bed. It was all right for some, he thought without rancour.

  He finished brushing the dog hairs off the fedora and glanced around his room. It was looking quite bare now he’d emptied the cupboards and stowed his fishing and hunting gear in the shed which he’d recently transferred from Beach View to the back garden of the pub. The ferrets would stay here under his bed until the day after the wedding, and then they too would go to their new home in the purpose-built housing Rosie had insisted he erect next to the shed. How the ferrets would feel about that, he didn’t know, but Harvey would be all right – he’d have Monty for company and be given free rein over the Anchor.

  There were only six days to go before their wedding, and things were gathering pace as all the last-minute details were attended to and fussed over. Ron was feeling quite relaxed about it all, eager to get it done with so they could start their new life together without playing hide-and-seek with the neighbours at five o’clock every morning.

  But Rosie had spun into a complete tizzy: she was convinced that a rocket would fall on the Town Hall before they could have the service; or that she’d forgotten something vital in the planning; her dress wouldn’t fit on the day; or her most trusted barmaid would fall ill and not be able to look after the pub. And then she’d turned her attention to fretting over the menu for the wedding breakfast, and if the Officers’ Club could get the champagne she hadn’t been able to find from her usual suppliers.