by Nancy Revell
‘Come in for a cuppa,’ Mrs Jenkins beckoned, ‘or a tipple of something stronger. Kenneth’s out with the Home Guard, so we’ll have the place to ourselves for a good natter!’
‘That’s a kind offer, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go straight back out. I was only popping by to check on everything.’ Rosie felt guilty seeing Mrs Jenkins’s face drop in disappointment. Peter had said he thought she was lonely. It was a supposition Rosie agreed with.
‘I tell you what,’ Rosie said, shifting herself further across the front doorstep of the house, which, in normal circumstances, she would have been entering for the first time as a married woman with her husband by her side, ‘let’s have a cup of tea, and a catch-up, as soon as I move in properly.’
Mrs Jenkins’s face lit up. ‘That’ll be grand, my dear! I shall look forward to it.’ She was just opening her mouth to ask another question when Rosie suddenly looked down at her watch.
‘Oh, look at the time! Sorry, Mrs Jenkins, I must dash. But a cup of tea – soon!’
And with that Rosie managed to get her whole body into the house. Giving Mrs Jenkins a quick farewell wave, she gently shut the front door behind her.
Turning around and looking down the hallway, Rosie took a deep breath. The house was dark and cold and she was suddenly struck by a huge upsurge of sadness that Peter was not there with her now. Stepping forward and switching on the light, she felt something under her foot. Looking down she saw that some post had arrived and automatically went to pick it up.
When she saw the name Mrs Rosie Miller in Peter’s neat handwriting on the front of the envelope, her heart leapt. Hurrying into the kitchen, she switched on the light and sat down at the little Formica table, carefully opening the envelope and taking out the letter to read.
To my dear wife,
What an absolute joy to be able to write those words to you!
My dear wife.
There, I just needed to write them again!
I can’t tell you just how very proud, and so incredibly happy, I am that you have made me your husband. I just wish I was there now so that I could pick you up and carry you across the threshold like any self-respecting newly married man is expected to do to his new wife.
But knowing you, Rosie, my love, you would have insisted on walking across the threshold anyway. You are the most independent, toughest, most beautiful person I have ever known – in both nature and looks.
I need you to remember just how resilient you are while we are parted.
I will try my damnedest to get back to you, and if there is any way possible that I can get word to you that I am alive and well, I will.
As I have said to you before, though, if I don’t make it back into your arms, you must keep your promise that you made in Guildford and you must live this wonderful life we have been given. With or without me.
My thoughts are, as always, with you, and as I think you know well enough by now, I love you truly, more than any words can express.
Yours,
Peter x
Tears rolled down Rosie’s face unchecked. Reading his words had transported her back into his arms, to when they had lain together after they had made love, and after she had agreed to be his wife and he had made her promise that she would live her life to the fullest, even if he did not come back to her. She had done so only because she knew he had needed to hear that; because, in all honesty, she didn’t know if that would be possible if he was not a part of it.
Chapter Eleven
Twenty minutes later Rosie was quietly shutting the front door, terrified she might alert Mrs Jenkins that she was leaving. Hurrying down the gravel pathway, she pulled out the small torch she kept in the pocket of her mackintosh. She switched it on and as the weak beam swung to her right and onto the grassy borders, her heart skipped a beat.
Pansies! There were small bunches of pansies growing amongst the other weeds and wild flowers that bordered the vegetable patch, which had recently been cultivated under the push to grow your own and ‘Dig for Victory’.
Rosie forced back more tears.
‘Come on!’ she muttered to herself. ‘No more tears. You’ve got to be strong. If Peter is being brave and putting his life on the line, you’re not going to mope around weeping into your hankie!’
And with that she swung open the wooden gate and practically marched the half-mile up the steep incline of Tunstall Vale, turning right on to West Lawn before arriving at Lily’s. She was just looking for her front-door keys when the wide black oak door swung open. As always when Rosie arrived at the bordello, she was hit by the sweet smell of perfume and a mixture of cigarette and cigar smoke, together with, of course, a lovely blanket of warmth. Lily’s was always well heated. It was one of the house rules. If it was cold, like this evening, then every fire would be burning, regardless of shortages. Lily, they’d all learnt, had her ways of getting hold of just about anything that was either rationed or in short supply.
‘Rosie!’ It was Kate who opened the door. ‘I’ve been watching out for you!’ She tugged Rosie’s arm to pull her in from the front step, then shut the door behind her.
‘How did it go? How’s Peter?’
Rosie looked at Kate’s expectant face, and knew it was important for Kate to know that her time with Peter had gone well. She knew how guilty her old school friend still felt about not getting Peter’s letter to her in time.
‘The wanderer returns!’ It was Lily making her way down the final flight of stairs from her room on the second floor. Rosie could hear the rustle of the taffeta she was wearing. She was clearly in a flamboyant mood tonight as her hooped skirts always made a show when Lily was feeling particularly extravagant. Rosie went to greet her at the bottom of the stairs and Lily gave her the customary two kisses on each cheek.
‘I’m hoping your detective treated you well whilst you were away? Of course, I might have worried you’d run off to join the circus – or worse still – had our Kate here not informed us that you had hopped on a train down to Guildford!’
Rosie gave a look of exasperation.
‘Lily, you know I would have come here myself and told you if I’d had time.’ As Rosie spoke she guided Lily towards the kitchen She could hear that some ‘guests’ had already arrived and were in the reception room, chatting and drinking and singing along to George’s piano rendition of the popular, and rather risqué, cabaret song ‘I’ve Got the Deepest Shelter in Town’.
‘George! Mon cher! Our errant child has returned to the fold!’ Lily shouted through to the back reception room in her best faux-French accent. Rosie and Kate exchanged looks and made their way through the swing door and into the kitchen where they all liked to relax and unwind.
‘She’s been like this since you left,’ Kate whispered to Rosie. ‘Like she’s been abandoned.’ She let out a little chuckle. ‘I’ve never known such a drama queen.’
Rosie knew Kate thought the world of Lily, who had not only given her a roof over her head when Rosie had brought her in off the streets, but had also cared for her, giving her elocution lessons and a new wardrobe. Most importantly, though, Lily had given her an old sewing machine and encouraged her to do what she loved more than anything else in the world – designing and making clothes. Recently, Lily had taken over the lease of the Maison Nouvelle, bought whatever stock had been left there by the previous owner, and told Kate to get on with doing what she had ‘clearly been put on this earth to do’.
‘Ah, she’s back!’
Rosie turned to see George hurrying into the kitchen, his ivory walking stick striking the tiled flooring.
‘Thank goodness!’ He gave her a gentle hug, and whispered in her ear, ‘She’s been like a bear with a sore head this past week.’
‘The bear might have a sore head, but it also has very good hearing!’ Lily scowled over at George, and then at Kate, just as Maisie and Vivian came bustling through the door.
‘Rosie! Welcome back!’ Maisie came over and, like her boss, kissed Rosie lightl
y on both cheeks. As she did so she whispered, ‘Don’t you ever leave us again!’
‘Is everyone all right next door?’ Lily asked Vivian, who was now the official head of the girls. ‘I thought you were with the Brigadier?’
‘He’s having a kip by the fire,’ Vivian said defensively, her Liverpudlian twang sneaking through her usual Mae West persona.
Lily looked at George for confirmation.
‘Yes, my dear, like a baby. And the rest of the girls are looking after the other guests. Everything’s fine and dandy, so …’ George hobbled over to the armoire ‘… I think a celebration is in order.’ He pulled out a bottle of Rémy Martin.
For a moment Rosie thought they all knew.
‘Celebration?’ she asked, as Maisie squeezed past her with a tray of Lily’s best cut-crystal tumblers.
‘To celebrate your return,’ Maisie said, setting the glasses down in the middle of the large farmhouse kitchen table.
Lily settled herself at the top of the table as she always did, and they all sat down in their usual places as George tipped generous quantities into everyone’s glasses, bar Kate, who didn’t drink and was pouring herself a cup of tea. She still hadn’t told anyone about the night she had fallen well and truly off the wagon and drunk almost half a bottle of cheap cooking brandy. It had been the reason she’d forgotten to hand over Peter’s letter, although she was still too ashamed to admit it openly.
‘So, here’s to the return of our Rosie!’ George’s words instigated a circle of raised glasses and one china teacup.
‘To Rosie’s return!’ everyone chorused.
‘So,’ Lily said, taking centre stage. Her bosom seemed to be desperately trying to break free from the tight corset she had pulled herself into this evening. ‘I’m sure I’m not alone in wanting to know exactly how your little holiday in Guildford went?’
Everyone murmured their agreement.
Rosie took a deep breath, followed by another sip of her brandy.
‘Well, I had a wonderful time,’ she said. Vivian gently nudged Maisie, who pretended not to notice. The pair of them were now firm friends and had become quite inseparable. ‘But I do have some rather unexpected news …’ She hesitated. ‘Actually, some rather exciting news to tell you all.’
Rosie looked at Lily and then at everyone else’s expectant faces.
She pulled off the gloves she had purposely kept on when she had arrived and showed everyone her left hand.
‘I got married!’
Chapter Twelve
Just like when she had told her women welders, Rosie was met by five shocked faces and a moment of silent disbelief.
‘Never!’ It was Vivian who spoke first.
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ It was George, who was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Now this really does call for a celebration. Sod the Rémy! Let’s get the old champers!’ He pushed his chair back. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said again, taking a few ungainly steps towards Rosie.
‘Congratulations my dear!’ he declared, embracing the young woman, who was like the daughter he’d never had.
‘Oh, Rosie!’ Kate was waiting her turn behind George. ‘This is the best news ever!’
Rosie could feel herself becoming emotional as she looked at her old friend and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Stop it or you’ll start me off!’ she scolded.
Maisie and Vivian crowded around and gave Rosie a quick hug in turn.
‘Congratulations!’ Vivian said in her best Mae West accent.
‘Thank heaven for some good news for a change!’ Maisie said. She would never admit it, but the thought that they might feel the long arm of the law pulling at their collar was still not quite a distant memory for her. The fact that Rosie was not only back with her detective but had also married him made her feel much more secure.
‘If the sirens go off now, I’m not budging an inch!’ Vivian declared as she helped Maisie set the champagne glasses on the table.
‘Here goes!’ George warned as the pop of the champagne cork caused everyone to duck automatically.
As the glasses were filled, Rosie looked at Lily, who had remained seated at the top of the table and was looking decidedly shell-shocked. Rosie would never admit it, but she needed Lily’s approval and she couldn’t keep this from showing on her face. Lily saw it and stood up, opened her arms wide and beckoned to her with her heavily jewelled hands.
‘Ma chérie, this is the most wondrous news! Congratulations!’ She stepped towards Rosie and gave her a big hug. It was the last thing Lily felt like doing, but she knew it was what Rosie wanted – and needed. She had known Rosie since the age of sixteen, when shortly after the death of her parents she had come to Lily seeking work. Lily had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying what she really thought about this latest turn of events.
George coughed and clinked the side of his champagne glass with a silver teaspoon to get everyone’s attention.
‘A toast!’ he declared. ‘To the best woman anyone could hope to be married to, our Rosie!’
He paused dramatically.
‘Mrs Rosie Miller!’
Everyone raised their glasses, including Kate, who had put some tap water in hers teacup.
‘To Mr and Mrs Miller!’ he said. ‘Congratulations!’
‘Congratulations!’ everyone chorused.
‘Félicitations pour ton mariage!’ Lily said in a convincing French accent, before adding, ‘Now, tell us all about it! We want to hear every detail.’
Rosie smiled. There was a part of her that hated being the centre of attention, but another part that wanted to relive her four days with Peter over and over again. Regaling the story of her rather unconventional, last-minute marriage would allow her to do just that.
After Maisie and Vivian had returned to their guests in the back parlour, and Kate had gone up to her room to work on her latest design, Rosie started to clear up the empty glasses.
‘Leave that,’ Lily told her. ‘Milly’s due in soon. She’ll sort it out.’
Rosie didn’t pay Lily any heed and quickly washed up the glasses.
‘Gawd, might as well just talk to the wall,’ Lily huffed.
Rosie left the glasses to drain and sat back down.
‘I’m thinking of buying my flat off Mr Brown,’ Rosie said, her eyes flicking from Lily to George to gauge their reactions.
‘What a good idea!’ they said in unison.
Rosie chuckled at their unintended double act.
‘Ma chère, I would say that not only is it a very good idea, but it is also a very astute move. Wouldn’t you agree, George?’ Lily looked at her fiancé with eyes that showed she expected both agreement and enthusiasm.
‘I most certainly would. Splendid idea! And, I might add, a financially savvy move.’
George had already told Rosie that he and Lily were looking towards building a more legitimate business infrastructure by using the profits from Lily’s and La Lumière Bleue in Soho, putting any extra cash into ‘bricks and mortar’. His friends in finance had told him that property was the next big thing.
‘I’m sure it’s going to be more than possible, my dear,’ George continued, ‘what with the money you’ll be saving when you move to Brookside Gardens and are no longer paying rent. Even more so when you factor into the equation the money you’ll be gaining from renting out the flat yourself.’
‘My only worry,’ Rosie said, ‘is buying property at a time like this, which, let’s face it, is pretty unpredictable to say the least.’
‘Darling,’ Lily said, pulling a cigarette out of her packet of Gauloises, ‘in business one has to take risks. What’s the phrase you’re so keen on, George – you have to speculate to accumulate?’
Rosie sat back in her chair. ‘I suppose my main worry is that the flat’s not far from the docks and the town’s already been heavily bombed.’
‘True. You might buy into bricks and mortar and be left with just that – a load of rubble,’ Lily mused
, blowing smoke up to the ceiling.
‘Well, that’s where insurance comes into it,’ George said. ‘It might be expensive, but it’ll be worth it.’
‘Mmm, and it’ll give peace of mind,’ Lily added.
‘God, I hate to even say this, but what if we lose the war?’ Rosie said, taking a deep breath.
‘Well, if that does happen,’ George pushed himself out of his seat, ‘it wouldn’t matter either way as we’ll all be living under a dictatorship, with absolutely no freedom, no rights, no money, and certainly no property. Everything will be owned by the Third Reich.’
A chill seemed to descend on the room.
‘Regardless,’ George made his voice upbeat, ‘it’s worth the gamble, and if we win the war, which we will, then you, Rosie, my dear, will have got yourself a very healthy little nest egg … Do you know how much your landlord – what’s his name again?’
‘Mr Brown.’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Brown … Do you know how much your Mr Brown wants for your little flat?’
‘We had a very brief chat about it before I came out tonight,’ Rosie said, ‘and it was clearly something he’d been thinking about for a while now. He said he’d asked around and been told that £175 would be a fair price for each flat.’
George nodded slowly. ‘Well, I would say that sounds about right. He’s not giving it away, but he’s also not being greedy.’
They were all quiet for a moment before Lily spoke.
‘That may be reasonable, George, but I’m not sure our Rosie’s got that much ready cash.’ Lily looked at Rosie for an answer.
‘I was thinking of getting a small mortgage,’ Rosie said.
‘That might prove difficult, my dear,’ George said. ‘I believe you would have to get your husband’s consent, which is probably going to be difficult given Peter’s present situation.’
Rosie’s shoulders slumped a little. She had feared this might be the case.
‘So, what then happens,’ George said, casting a quick look across to Lily, ‘is that I will loan you the outstanding amount you need just like a bank would.’
