‘Come in!’ she responded, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was half-past eight – he had only been out for an hour.
She was about to excuse herself to get dressed again, then she dismissed the idea, because, after all, they would be married in a week’s time.
Manny seemed more relaxed with her this evening, more talkative, she thought, caused, no doubt, by his visit to the Paradise Arms!
‘Let me have the towel,’ he offered. ‘I’ll give your hair a good rub.’ He bent over her and she was glad that he couldn’t see her face, because she knew that, uncharacteristically, she was blushing at the intimacy of the moment.
‘There, that’s done.’ He removed the damp towel, and Florence gave her hair a swift brush-through and smiled her thanks.
‘Shall we go in the sitting-room?’ she asked. ‘We can put a match to the fire.’
They sat together on the settee, watching the flames curling round the coal, in companionable silence for a while.
Then he drew her closer, whispered, ‘I always thought you were rather straight up and down, Florence, but without all those whale bones beneath your clothes . . .’ He slipped his hands under the folds of the loose robe to explore the contours of her body, tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence.
‘I’m an emancipated woman these days. I threw away my corsets after I came back from hospital. I realized the restriction hadn’t done my insides any good.’
‘I always admired you, you know, but I never thought you and I would get this close.’
She surprised herself. ‘Not close enough . . .’ she murmured. She took a deep breath. ‘Do you want to stay here tonight, with me, Manny?’
‘What about—’
‘Josefina? You can slip away before she wakes up in the morning.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I don’t say a thing if I don’t mean it.’
Even as they rose to go to the bedroom, they heard Rose Marie in the kitchen.
‘Florence, have you gone to bed? I’ve come home after all!’
Florence adjusted her kimono for propriety’s sake. She ushered Manny through into the kitchen. ‘Goodnight Manny. See you tomorrow,’ she said.
When he had gone, she asked Rose Marie, ‘What’s up?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ Rose Marie was quite shocked to see Florence all flustered, and Manny looking sheepish. Something had obviously been going on, she thought.
‘There’s nothing for me to confess. How about you?’ Florence queried.
Rose Marie sat down abruptly. ‘All you need to know is I thought better of something I intended to do . . .’
‘You and Russ, I suppose. My dear girl, I understand. I suppose I had responsibility for you girls thrust on me, too young.’
‘Stella said that about herself, marrying and having a child so young,’ Rose Marie wept.
‘All I have ever tried to do, was to steer you away from, well, making mistakes. Yet I almost made one tonight, myself. I feel ashamed you guessed.’
‘Oh, Florence, I’m sorry, but, in your case, getting married next week, how can it really be wrong?’
Florence looked at her. In your case, Rose Marie said. Had she and Russ . . . ?
‘A cup of tea, a good night’s sleep, with a clear conscience, eh? Your birthday tomorrow.’
THIRTEEN
‘OOH, you’re here after all, Rose Marie! Happy birthday!’ Josefina squealed in her excitement when she awoke, bright and early on Sunday morning.
Rose Marie mumbled her thanks with her eyes still closed. The next moment, a parcel was thrust under her nose.
‘Guess what it is! It smells lovely! So will you, when you use it.’
Rose Marie gave in. She yawned, sat up in bed. ‘Talcum powder?’ she guessed.
‘No, pull the paper off and look!’
‘Perfume . . . my favourite, lily of the valley.’ Rose Marie uncapped the bottle, sniffed it.
‘It’s from me, and Yvette, even though she isn’t here. She helped me choose it.’
‘Give me a kiss – no, two: one for Yvette, eh? You must miss her, Josefina.’
‘I do, but Lilli had a letter yesterday, and there was a note inside for me. Look.’ She withdrew a creased piece of lined paper from her pyjama pocket. ‘Yvette can’t write as well as me, yet, but as Aunty Florence said, I mustn’t comment on that. But, oh dear, I have!’
The uneven printing was in green crayon, which made it difficult to decipher.
Dear Josefina and fambly
I am staying with my daddy and his fambly. They was please to see me again.
Will you look after Clarice for me? I hope Florrance will look after Maman. I am going back to my old school.
Will you write to me please?
Love from Yvette xxx
‘Now you have a pen friend. That’s nice,’ Rose Marie observed, with a smile.
‘And you have all these cards and parcels which I hid from you yesterday,’ Florence said, overhearing this remark as she came into their bedroom, bearing gifts.
She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Happy birthday, dear Rose Marie!’
‘Wait – Clarice wants to see everything, too!’ Josefina propped the doll between them.
‘I’m glad I decided to come home last night,’ Rose Marie said softly to Florence.
‘I’m glad, too. Still, I realize you’ll soon spend your birthdays with someone else . . .’
‘Why don’t you say with Russ,’ Josefina cried impatiently. ‘Oh, do open up!’
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Rose Marie said to Florence, ‘but I told Russ he could come and spend the day here.’
‘He’s always welcome,’ Florence assured her.
‘He’s like one of the family! I can’t see his present here,’ Josefina told Rose Marie.
‘He’s bringing it with him, later.’
‘D’you know what it is?’
Rose Marie smiled. ‘I do, but I’m not telling you!’
Later, when Russ arrived, Florence suggested that he and Rose Marie take Josefina out for a stroll in the park, to ensure a good appetite for the Sunday lunch she and Manny were preparing. She added, ‘Why not ask Lilli to go with you?’
Lilli, however, was about to go out herself. The bright lipstick she’d applied emphasized the pallor of her face. ‘I am meeting Mr Solon. He thought it might cheer me up, to get out of the flat for a bit. Happy birthday, Rose Marie! Have a lovely day.’ She looked wistfully at Rose Marie and Russ, standing on her landing, hand in hand.
‘When shall I speak to Florence?’ Russ asked Rose Marie, as Josefina clattered down the stairs ahead of them.
‘When you can get her to yourself for a moment, I suppose!’ she replied.
‘That might be difficult . . .’
‘I always find it better to delay mention of important matters until after we’ve eaten!’
‘You make it sound like bad news,’ he said in mock reproach.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Josefina called impatiently. ‘Do hurry up!’
‘That’s what I want to do, if only Rose Marie will allow it!’
*
They sat down to Rose Marie’s favourite meal – roast chicken, festooned with tiny chipolata sausages and a waistcoat of well-crisped bacon slices round its plump middle. The final decoration was a sprig of watercress, to add colour.
Florence carved as usual, mainly white meat for the ladies, plus a wing or leg for the two men, Russ and Manny, who passed the dishes of vegetables along the table. There were roast and boiled potatoes, mashed, peppered swede, chopped cabbage and diced carrots.
‘Oh, good,’ Rose Marie exclaimed. ‘Mushrooms in the white sauce!’
Russ said, ‘With my plate piled so high, where do I pour the gravy? This is splendid, Florence. My mother’s a good cook, but not as superb as you are!’
‘Don’t you dare say that to her,’ Florence r
eproved him, but she couldn’t disguise her pleasure at his compliment. ‘I would have been more adventurous if I’d known you were coming to lunch! I expect your mother is wondering what to do, with a large joint of meat!’
Rose Marie exchanged a swift guilty glance with Russ.
‘I chose the afters,’ Josefina said. ‘Egg custard.’
‘I crossed my fingers it wouldn’t curdle,’ Florence told them. ‘On your special day.’
Rose Marie thought, it will be even more special, when we tell her our news.
Manny said firmly that they were to leave him to do the washing-up.
‘I’ll make the coffee, then,’ Florence said. ‘Rose Marie, why don’t you and Josefina take your presents into the sitting-room, so we can all enjoy looking at them later, eh?’
‘May I have a word with you, please, Florence?’ Russ put in, with a glance at Manny, already busy at the sink, with his back to them.
‘Of course you can. You can help me. Put the cups on the tray on the table. Now, what d’you want to say?’
‘I . . . I would like to ask your permission for Rose Marie and I to become engaged. Don’t worry,’ he added in a rush, before she could answer, ‘We’re not thinking of marriage yet.’
‘I’m relieved to hear that.’ However, Florence was smiling. ‘You’ll tell me next, I suppose, that you already have the ring in your pocket?’ He nodded. ‘And that she has said “yes”?’
‘Yes, she has! But what do you say, Florence?’
‘Don’t look so anxious, my dear. It’s what I expected. Of course, I give my consent.’
‘Thank you, Florence!’ Russ took the coffee-pot from her hand and put it down on the tray. ‘Allow me to give you a hug!’
Manny turned his head then, to see Florence receiving a kiss. He grinned happily. She deserves it, he thought. She always comes up trumps. There was something he could do for Florence now. He abandoned the sink full of dishes; dried his hands on his apron.
‘Just popping downstairs to fetch something,’ he told Florence.
‘Don’t be long – we must all see Russ present the ring.’
One of Manny’s few treasured possessions from his past life was a rather worn leather wallet. It had been his father’s. His mother had given it to him when he started work as a clerk in a railway office. He had carried it with him throughout his service in the army. In the field hospital in the last year of the war, a kind nurse had taken his mother’s wedding ring, which had been tucked in the wallet, and threaded it on a cheap silver chain, which she fastened round his neck. The wallet was kept with a few personal items, awaiting his release from hospital. The chain had long since broken; the ring returned to its hiding place.
Now, he took it out and regarded the ring thoughtfully. It was a solid, plain gold band. It gleamed as it must have done on the day his mother received it. He thought, with a pang, I didn’t give Florence an engagement ring. It all happened so quickly, and she, of course, proposed to me! But maybe she will want to wear my mother’s ring. I can only ask her . . .
‘You have to go down on one knee, doesn’t he Rose Marie?’ Josefina was thoroughly entering into the spirit of the occasion.
Russ obliged. Rose Marie held out an imperious hand and queried, ‘Well?’
‘Will you marry me, Rose Marie?’
‘Certainly!’ she said. She waggled her finger. ‘Come on, where is it?’
Then they were crowding round the betrothed couple to admire the ring.
‘Congratulations and happy birthday, once again!’ Florence said softly.
Manny cleared his throat and said, loud and clear, ’Florence, it’s a bit too late for us to get engaged, seeing as we’re getting married next Saturday, but I’d like you to try on this wedding ring for size – it was my mother’s – she was a wonderful woman and I know she’d have been pleased for you to have it.’
He slipped the ring on Florence’s finger. Yes, it fitted well.
‘I should have said too, if you want a new ring, or to wear your own mother’s ring, if you have it, well, it must be your choice.’
‘It’s perfect,’ Florence told him. ‘You must keep it for now, of course, but I’ll be proud to wear it at our wedding, Manny.’ Then, in front of the others, she kissed him on the lips.
Not wishing to be left out, Russ embraced Rose Marie.
Josefina’s voice reproached them. ‘Oh how soppy you all are! What about cutting the birthday cake now, Aunty Florence, to celebrate?’
*
Florence regarded herself solemnly in the cheval mirror in her bedroom. The heather-mix woollen jacket had a smart mauve velvet collar. The skirt was shorter than she was used to, but revealed well-shaped legs in fine silk stockings. Rose Marie had made sure the seams were straight at the back. Her wedding costume and other new clothes, including lingerie, had been purchased at Belling’s, with a generous discount allowed because of Rose Marie.
Stella, who’d arrived home mid-week to help with the preparations and to look after her daughter while Florence and Manny were away, placed the purple cloche hat on Florence’s head, trying not to ruffle her hair.
‘There! I know you had your doubts about the colour, but it’s just right, isn’t it?’
The bride’s attendant, Josefina, advised by her mother to sit still and watch, couldn’t resist swinging her legs and looking down with satisfaction at her new, shiny shoes.
‘You should’ve worn a long white dress, Aunty Florence,’ she observed.
‘I’m no spring chicken, dear.’ Florence thought happily that the mirror reflected otherwise.
‘What’s that?’
‘Shush . . .’ her mother told her, while outlining Florence’s lips with a touch of colour.
‘The flowers have come; where shall I put them?’ Russ’s voice. He’d arrived early, as Manny’s best man and driver of the wedding carriage, courtesy of Elmo Turbot-Watts.
‘On the table. We’re just coming out. You’d better take your button-holes and drive Manny to the Register Office. We need you back here at ten minutes before ten, to collect us.’
‘I put some camp stools in the back of the van. Sorry there are no other seats.’
‘Well, at least I get the front seat,’ Florence said, emerging first from the bedroom.
‘I’ve got my ring on today,’ Rose Marie showed it off proudly. ‘Jewellery isn’t permitted in the workroom.’ She tweaked Russ’s button-hole, a white carnation, into place. ‘I bet Manny’s not as calm as the bride!’
‘I never thought we’d see this day,’ Stella said tactlessly. She added, ‘It’s a pity Lilli decided not to come.’
‘She was worried she might spoil a happy occasion by crying,’ Florence reminded her.
Stella thought, I shed a few tears myself, thinking of my own wedding, last night.
In his flat, Manny picked up and stroked his little cat, then had to apply the clothes brush to his grey suit to remove the stray hairs. Blanche, Josefina and Yvette had named her for him. Yvette told him imperiously that meant ‘white’. He didn’t say he knew a little of the language, having spent four terrible years in dug-out trenches in France during the war.
‘You’ll be all right. Russ is staying down here while I’m away to keep an eye on the girls, and the shop, at nights. He’ll feed you. When we come back, you’ll have to make your mind up if you want to stay in the basement, or join us upstairs; that’s if Florence agrees.’
Russ assured him he looked smart. New suit; white shirt, with stiff collar and cuffs; a grey, silk tie; gold cufflinks with his initials PJM, his wedding gift from the bride. Manny had visited the barber a couple of days ago for a short back and sides; the floppy locks at the front were now restrained by brilliantine. He’d only the small mirror propped above the sink in which to check his appearance. He took one last look, as he fixed the carnation in place.
‘Ready?’ Russ asked. ‘Lets go!’
It was a short service; simple words, no music.
Florence handed her sheaf of hothouse red roses in a froth of delicate fern to Josefina, then took her place beside Manny. His solemn expression was instantly transformed by one of his infectious smiles when he saw her. He wanted to whisper that she looked really nice, but realized that wasn’t enough. Instead, he squeezed her hand tight to let her know how he was feeling. Excited, but a little nervous.
Then the wedding ring slid smoothly on to her finger, the vows were made, and it seemed no time at all before her sisters were hugging her proudly and congratulating them.
They all piled into the book-van this time for the short drive to their chosen restaurant for the wedding breakfast; a modest affair because it was still only mid-morning, and the newly wed pair were leaving after this, on what Florence referred to as their holiday. Toasts were made in delicious fruit-cup, and the rich, dark, iced wedding cake was ceremoniously sliced.
A few pieces of confetti, thrown by Josefina outside the Register Office, floated down from Florence’s purple hat on to her plate. She smiled. ‘I didn’t expect that!’ she told her niece.
‘I got you something else!’ Josefina loosened the strings of her dolly bag.
Florence and Manny regarded the large paper silver horseshoe. GOOD LUCK ALWAYS!
The wedding party rose again, glass in hand, to echo that.
*
They sat opposite each other in the train, not talking for a while, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. They weren’t going as far from home as the family imagined; Florence had kept their destination a secret, shaking her head at the guessing games. The West Country? Lake District? Ireland to discover Manny’s roots? ‘Tell you when we get back,’ she said.
Now and again Manny’s hand strayed to his pocket. He was reassured to find his wallet still in place. It was bulky with notes, four large white fivers.
‘I went to the bank and told them of my change of name,’ Florence had said yesterday. ‘I withdrew forty pounds, and here is your share.’
‘But—’ he began uncertainly.
‘No buts, Manny. We will set up a joint account after our holiday.’
Now, she broke the silence. They were the only occupants of the carriage. It seemed to her to be a good time. ‘Manny, there’s something I should tell you. I didn’t, before today, in case you got the wrong idea about why I proposed to you.’
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