Daisy's Wars

by Meg Henderson

  ‘But you must!’ Mar wailed when she told her.

  ‘Absolutely!’ Par agreed. ‘Nuffield’s a wonderful fellow, you know, far more interesting than any of us hereditary shower! If you don’t go, I swear I’ll throw on a blonde wig and falsies and go in your place!’

  ‘But I haven’t anything to ‘wear,’ Daisy said half-heartedly. What she really wanted to do was nothing. Her plan was just to drift along, taking walks in the countryside and hoping that a time would come when she could do so without listening for sick planes. What a luxury it would be to look at the sky just for the sake of it.

  ‘Let’s look in Dotty’s wardrobe,’ Mar said, taking her by the arm. ‘As far as I recall you’re much the same size, only you manage to inhabit it better.’

  ‘You can’t just go through her things!’ Daisy protested.

  ‘Oh, do be quiet!’ Mar boomed in reply.

  Dotty’s wardrobe was far more extensive than Daisy expected, even though she had seen a few gowns when they’d dressed for dinner at Rose Cottage. They had lived it up together at parties throughout London in their time, too, but always in uniform, and the gowns hanging up were almost a statement of the social life of an upper-class gel in the pre-war era.

  Mar saw her looking at them.

  ‘You’re thinking that Dotty is a terribly profligate creature,’ she said, eyes narrowed.

  ‘No I’m not,’ Daisy protested, ‘I’m thinking what a beautiful collection she has, and how she’d feel about me delving into it and picking out what I want. I know how I’d feel, Mar!’

  ‘Oh, stuff and nonsense! Anyway, it wasn’t Dotty’s choice to have all this, it was mine. I was from the generation who survived the first war, you see, the generation that was scarred by it. So many young men just disappeared. I was determined that my daughter would have a jolly time while she was young, then the blighters did it again.’

  She pulled out one or two evening dresses and laid them on the bed. The black one Daisy had worn the first time she stayed at Rose Cottage was inspected.

  ‘No,’ Mar said. ‘Quite beautiful on, as I recall, but I think we want something brighter for this occasion. What about this one?’

  Daisy turned and as she looked at the dress her heart gave an enormous thump in her chest. It was sky blue and covered with sparkling sequins, as though someone had thrown a handful of diamonds in the air and sewn them where they fell. For a moment a little girl stood before her, long russet hair tied with a bow the same colour as the dress, expressions of emotion she didn’t understand on her beautiful, innocent face, her sky-blue eyes full of sadness as she sang ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’. The child was so real that she felt that she could reach out and touch her, and the sound of her voice was as hauntingly angelic as she remembered.

  She sat on the bed, the colour drained from her face, tears brimming over her cheeks.

  ‘My dear girl!’ Mar said, dropping the dress and rushing to put her arms round her. ‘Whatever is it?’

  ‘Someone I used to know wore a dress of that colour,’ Daisy said, smiling and trying to lighten the moment. ‘I couldn’t do it justice.’

  Mar, a lady to her fingertips, simply turned back to the wardrobe and came out with an exquisite dress of pale pink silk cut on the bias, the kind of dress Daisy remembered from her days at Fenwicks.

  ‘This,’ Mar said quietly, ‘is your colour, and it’s terribly sophisticated. I think Dotty was trying to impress me. It’s not her, you know what she’s like, or used to be, Dotty by name and Dotty by nature. Now, try it on and I’ll be back in a tick. I have an idea.’

  Daisy loved silk and dresses cut on the bias and remembered Joan laughing at her when she had tried to create her own version on the little sewing machine in Guildford Place. As she examined herself in the long mirror she found it hard to believe it was really her. For six years now she had been in uniform and had hardly worn anything else, and yet the woman she saw looked so completely different she could’ve been another species. The cut of the material suited her figure, the subtle plainness emphasised her curves, and she couldn’t resist walking up and down in the exaggerated way she had been taught for the benefit of Fenwicks customers.

  ‘That’s the thing!’ Mar barked from the doorway. ‘Flaunt it, girl, flaunt it!’ and Daisy giggled. ‘Now sit down while I fasten this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’ll see!’ Mar said, placing a necklace around her neck, a series of diamond-studded open hearts, each one with a pink diamond drop in the centre. ‘There are earrings to match,’ Mar said.

  Daisy was speechless.

  ‘It was made for my grandmother’s twenty-first,’ Mar said. ‘Been passed down the family. I wore it on my wedding day, thought Dotty might on hers, but there we are. It’s yours for the night, Daisy. You shall go to the ball!’

  Lord Nuffield lived in Huntercombe, in a large house nestling in the Chilterns, and it was something of a surprise. It had been extended from the original design, presumably in expectation of the children he and his wife never had, but though the furniture, carpets and tapestries were of fine quality, the Nuffields lived in a very 1930s style, with few precious antiques around them. Into this setting came the guests that night, the WAAFs, ever ready for a good time, seeking each other out without too much trouble and becoming a group, even if they didn’t know each other. They were immediately identified and paired up with specially chosen escorts, something that didn’t entirely please the girls. They had been ordered about and regulated for years – now that they were free they wanted to please themselves.

  ‘Peter Bradley,’ said a voice behind her, ‘and you must be Daisy.’

  Daisy turned to look at him. About fifty, she guessed, a good four inches taller than her, fairish hair, receding, but otherwise well-preserved, must have been quite something in his day. Nice smile, distinguished-looking, but with a certain look in his eyes as well, an amused expression.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, gracefully taking his proffered arm without touching him too much, another technique she had perfected over the years to keep a distance between her and anyone who wanted actual contact. He simply grabbed her hand and tightened it through his arm, pulling them closer, then he held on to the hand. She pulled slightly to get more control.

  ‘I’m not letting go!’ he announced cheerfully, looking at her with that expression in his eyes. He was annoying her, but she didn’t feel threatened in any way, she realised. This man must be a very good father, but she wasn’t looking for one. She felt vaguely disappointed that he wasn’t younger or handsomer, or something, watching the others walk off on the arms of those who had that something. Still, it was only for a few hours. She could be civil, as long as he behaved.

  ‘I’m one of Lord Nuffield’s directors,’ he smiled. He seemed very sure of himself, but then if he wasn’t by his age, she supposed, he never would be.

  She nodded slightly in reply, wondering if he expected her to say, ‘How clever of you’, or ‘Oooh!’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Soda water, please,’ she replied.

  ‘That all?’ he almost shouted, looking aghast. ‘There’s plenty to choose from, you know.’

  ‘That’s what I like,’ she shrugged. ‘And do you always make sure everyone in the room is looking at you?’

  He threw his head back and laughed. ‘You want a bit of decorum, do you?’

  ‘No, but I think you do,’ she said icily, and was rewarded with another great guffaw as he went off to get her drink.

  ‘Trust me to land the nutcase,’ she thought, wondering how long she would have to stay here.

  ‘You’d be a very cheap date,’ he smiled when he came back with her soda water.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that,’ Daisy countered; she had decided on arm’s-length cool to freeze him out. If she could put him off the night might not be wasted after all. Judging by the glances of the younger men around them she wouldn
’t have any trouble finding a replacement.

  He was laughing at her as she thought this. ‘I know what you’re thinking!’ he yelled, and there it was again, that attention-pulling laughter. ‘So where do you come from?’ he asked.

  ‘Originally from Newcastle,’ she said, ‘but that was a long time ago.’

  ‘You don’t sound Newcastle,’ he grinned.

  ‘I still think it, and if I spoke it you wouldn’t have any idea what I was saying,’ she said, ‘so I don’t.’

  ‘Except to yourself?’ he asked. ‘And your family, I suppose.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘You don’t make conversation easy, do you?’

  ‘Well, we didn’t exactly choose each other,’ Daisy murmured, sipping her drink and looking around in time-honoured fashion. ‘I mean, you’re just doing your duty, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, actually, that’s not entirely true,’ he smiled. ‘I had been tipped off, then I had a look and said, “That one’s definitely for me,” and pulled rank.’

  ‘Oh God, another awful chat-up line,’ Daisy groaned. She wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her or with her, but either way she wished he would stop.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard a great many?’ he said, looking her up and down.

  ‘Look,’ Daisy said quietly, ‘don’t try that one either, I don’t succumb to flattery. And for your information, the dress and the diamonds are borrowed. If they’re not back by midnight I’ll be standing here in my WAAF uniform.’

  ‘Clothes and jewellery are just the outside trappings,’ he said. ‘I’m judging what’s underneath.’

  ‘If you’re being filthy you may well get this drink over your head,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve heard more crude chat-ups than you have; I can see them coming.’

  ‘My, but you’re touchy,’ he chuckled. ‘I was talking about the person, actually, not the body, though now you’ve drawn my attention to it—’

  ‘I did not draw your attention to it!’ she said firmly. ‘And what are you, psychic or something? How do you know about “the person”?’

  ‘Our first row!’ he said delightedly, spinning on his heels with delight.

  Daisy glared at him. ‘I don’t think this is exactly a meeting of minds. Why don’t we split up and perhaps we’ll meet people we can get on with? That way the evening won’t be totally wasted.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said brightly, ‘I’m loving it so far, and no one else will dare come near you. I told you, I pulled rank.’

  Then he guided her to the middle of the floor and danced with her.

  ‘I’m not dancing,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Yes you are,’ he grinned. ‘Look – you’re doing it now.’

  ‘I’m not, you’re pulling me about!’

  ‘You sound so childish!’ he laughed, whirling her round. ‘Now be a good girl and dance properly or you’ll fall down in your borrowed dress and everyone will laugh at you, me included. And if you are a good girl and behave yourself, I’ll let you dance one dance with a young buck later.’

  ‘I’ll dance with whoever I want to dance with!’ she said angrily.

  ‘Yes,’ he smiled, ‘but only if I let you.’

  The whole evening he stuck by her, a cheerful, good-natured if annoying presence. He brought her food, carried drinks to her and talked even when she refused to reply.

  ‘You haven’t asked about me,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a message there,’ she replied, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Peter Bradley—’ he started.

  ‘Yes, you said.’

  ‘Oh, good! You remembered! Aged fifty-one, widowed, two daughters, nineteen and seventeen – you’ll meet them later – on the board of directors of Morris Motors and various other bits and pieces—’

  ‘—and you bother girls young enough to be your daughter. There’s a name for men like you.’

  ‘You are fun, Daisy!’

  ‘Or are you one of those guys who likes boys better and surrounds himself with the most gorgeous females to put people off the track?’ she said, in an attempt to insult him.

  He looked thoughtful. ‘No,’ he said eventually, and grinned.

  ‘Took your time answering, though, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, you strike me as the kind of young woman who needs an honest answer, Daisy, so I considered it carefully before I answered,’ he said seriously.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to dislodge you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t think so,’ he said, shaking his head almost mournfully. ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.’ He looked at her amiably while she glared back at him. ‘What’s the fastest marriage proposal you’ve ever had, Daisy?’ he asked, smiling down happily at her.

  ‘Oh, please!’

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘Yes, that’s the trouble, you probably do.’ She looked at him. He thought he was in full control, so she decided to sort him out. ‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘the fastest proposal I ever had was from a pilot of a Lanc.’

  ‘Oh, those boys proposed to everyone,’ Peter said dismissively, reaching for her glass.

  ‘He was about twenty and his plane was shot to hell, all the crew dead and he knew he wouldn’t make it either. I was on duty in the tower, you see, he was on my earphones, and he asked me if I’d marry him if he made it home and survived.’

  ‘And what did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘I said I would.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No,’ she said calmly. ‘The line went dead and he was never seen again.’

  There was silence for a moment, then, ‘That was a rotten story,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You asked the question.’

  ‘And you play dirty.’

  ‘You asked for that, too.’

  ‘Maybe you’re not a very nice girl.’

  ‘I think that’s a wise judgement.’

  ‘Poisonous, even.’

  ‘You said it.’

  ‘I think it’s my duty to marry you, to keep you from poisoning some nice boy, though.’ He beamed down at her. ‘Good try, Daisy!’ he said happily. ‘We’re going to have such fun together!’

  It was one of the worst evenings of her life, and yet he reminded her of someone.

  When she reached Rose Cottage the next day a bouquet of red roses was waiting for her, and so was Mar, full of excitement.

  ‘Who are they from? Who are they from?’ she demanded, dancing up and down.

  ‘You know very well who they’re from, you silly old mare!’ Par shouted from the sitting room. ‘You read the bloody card!’

  Daisy knew who they were from, too. She didn’t need to read the card, and put the roses straight in the bin.

  ‘Daisy!’ Mar whispered very loudly. ‘Red roses!’

  ‘From an idiot,’ Daisy said wearily.

  ‘Peter’s not an idiot!’

  ‘Oh, you know him?’

  ‘Well of course we do, we move in the same circles, my dear, God help us. He’s a little odd, I’ll admit—’

  ‘Odd!’

  ‘Kind of strange at times, granted.’

  ‘Mar, listen to me, the man’s an idiot!’ Daisy laughed, throwing her arms round Mar and looking into her eyes.

  ‘But Daisy, you don’t know enough about him.’

  ‘I know all I ever want to know, believe me!’ Daisy said, heading for her room.

  ‘He and his wife had such a happy marriage,’ Mar persisted at her heels, ‘and the girls are so lovely – did you meet them?’

  ‘No, he threatened to introduce them, but I made sure he didn’t.’

  ‘She died in the Blitz, you know, his wife. She was staying at their London flat, terribly sad. I said to Par. “He’ll never live without her,” and for a while you could see the sadness in his eyes, but he’s pulled himself together wonderfully. Lovely man, Daisy, strange, but lovely.’ Mar’s voice sounded almost reproachful. ‘I know there’s an age gap, but you’re mature beyond your
years and I’m sure your people will love him when they come back.’

  Daisy spun round to face her. ‘You set this up, didn’t you?’ she accused Mar.

  ‘Daisy! As if I would!’

  ‘You set the whole thing up!’

  From the sitting room she heard Par laughing. ‘Found out, you silly old mare. I told you she was too smart not to guess!’

  ‘Shut up, you old goat!’ Mar yelled back. ‘Daisy, it wasn’t like—’

  ‘The invitation, everything, you set it up! I couldn’t understand why I’d been invited, but you arranged it so that I would meet that, that idiot! Mar, how could you?’

  ‘Well, you are two of my favourite people, you and Peter,’ Mar said sheepishly, ‘and as I say, you’ve always been older than your years and he’s always been younger than his, so I just thought, well, who knows? And if you can’t interfere in the lives of your friends, well, I mean, darling, what’s the point of having them?’

  ‘He’s not younger than his years, Mar, the man is an idiot! How many times do I have to say it? He ruined the entire night for me, pulling me about the dance floor, laughing so loudly that he had everybody staring at us. And I couldn’t get away from him, he was like a leech!’

  Mar was chuckling fondly. ‘That certainly sounds like Peter,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you two hit it off!’

  ‘Mar!’ Daisy said in exasperation, then she turned and made her way upstairs. Her reaction had been too strong because Mar had mentioned her people and their supposed return any day now, and she had had to divert attention. There had been so many opportunities to explain about ‘her people’, and that had been another one, but once again she let it pass. She kept saying to herself that she didn’t know why she did this, but deep down she did. She didn’t want to open that door and think about them. There was too much stored up there, her entire life until she had joined up and reinvented herself. If she looked behind that door, who knew where it could lead? Lying to Mar, even by omission, made her feel guilty, but she was only resting for a while at Rose Cottage. Soon she would decide what to do with her life and move on and Mar need never know.

  What to do with her life, now there was a question, and she had no answer. The more she thought about it the less sense it all made. One thing she did know, though: she had no intention of being found a nice, safe man, and certainly not a nice, safe old man. Nor an idiot.