‘No, not me.’ He smiled a little ruefully. ‘I guess I never met the right girl … not yet.’ He paused, and they looked at one another steadily for a few moments, Barbara’s brown eyes mesmerised by the intense regard in his silvery-grey ones. She knew then, as she often told herself later, that this was probably the point at which she should have said to herself, ‘No! No more; turn away now before it’s too late.’ But, of course, she didn’t turn away and neither did Nat.
He smiled then, and gave a little shrug. ‘I guess I was always too busy working in the hotel, all the hours God sends … No, to be fair, that’s not strictly true. I found time for leisure in between. I ski, as I told you, although that can be classed as work as well. I play baseball, though not very well; I canoe and I’ve done a little rock climbing. At least I did, until Adolf Hitler – and, of course, our own Franklin D. Roosevelt – thought otherwise, and now I’ve found myself over here.’ He grinned. ‘Yes, I know what they’re saying about us – overpaid, oversexed, and over here!’
Barbara smiled at him. ‘I believe you always have to speak as you find.’ Then she added, rather daringly, ‘You seem a nice normal sort of fellow to me.’
‘Thank you kindly, ma’am!’ He touched an imaginary forelock. ‘You know, we were all given strict instructions as to how we must behave while we’re over here in your country. In fact, we were all issued with a little booklet with a list of dos and don’ts. The worst thing we can say, apparently, is to tell a Britisher that, “We came over here and won the last one – and now we’re here to see that you win this one.”’
‘It’s true, though,’ replied Barbara. ‘We’ve stood alone for a long time, since 1940, when our allies were forced to surrender. None of us believed it would go on for so long.’
‘Ye-eh, that’s what it says in our little book, that the Brits are weary of it all. How the houses might look shabby because they haven’t been painted for years; the factories are making planes now, not paint. And that British trains are cold because the power is being used for industry, not for heating. And how the rationing of food is affecting you all. That sure must be hitting you hard, being restricted to – what is it? – two ounces of butter a week, four ounces of bacon?’
‘Something like that,’ Barbara nodded. ‘We manage. We’ve got used to it and I haven’t heard of anybody starving. Actually, some people regard it as being fair shares for all.’
‘You sure are a tough breed of people, and I take my hat off to all of you,’ said Nat. ‘That goes for most of us guys, I guess.’
Barbara didn’t know how to answer that. She knew they all put up with the hardships and inconveniences because there was nothing else they could do. But they all did their share of grumbling from time to time, which was only human nature. It was probably true, however, that on the whole they had rallied round as a nation and supported one another, more than they had been inclined to do in peacetime.
‘I notice you’re a sergeant,’ said Barbara, to bring a new topic to the conversation.
‘Sure,’ Nat replied, ‘and so is my pal, Howard. We were both made up recently. And we’re the genuine article, I can assure you. No badges of rank that we’re not entitled to.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Barbara.
‘Oh, some of these corporals and sergeants that you might see around are real phoneys. They’re privates in disguise. Artificial stripes that are taken off when they leave the dance hall, or if they’re in danger of being seen by an NCO or an officer who knows them. Stripes put on to attract the girls, don’t you know? Medals as well, sometimes; they’re known as “Spam” medals.’
‘Well, fancy that!’ said Barbara. ‘That’s something I didn’t know. Mind you, I’ve heard of some of our lads pretending to be something they’re not. RAF lads telling stories of how many German planes they’ve shot down, when they’re really ground crew … My husband’s a sergeant as well,’ she went on, feeling somehow that she ought to make some reference to him. ‘Probably because of his age and maturity – he’s fifteen years older than me – and he’s in charge of the meals at the officers’ mess. He’s doing pretty much the same thing as he did at home.’
‘So … how long has he been in the army?’
‘He joined up almost straight away, in 1939. He’s never been sent abroad – he escaped Dunkirk – and there’s not much likelihood of him having to go now. What about you, Nat?’
‘Who can tell?’ Nat shook his head. ‘One never knows. We all know there are preparations going on for a second front later this year. That’s why we’re here. I sure would like to have a bash at old Hitler but, like your hubby, I’m in charge of catering. Coincidence, eh?’
Barbara nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s as important a job as any other. I’ve been relieved that it’s kept Albert away from the battle zone.’
‘That’s exactly what my parents say,’ agreed Nat. ‘But some think, of course, that we’ve got a cushy number. At least I’m seeing the world, aren’t I? Or a part of it at any rate. I hope to see some more of your little old country before I’m through. Blackpool sure is a swell place.’ He smiled and nodded appreciatively. ‘I’ve walked along your prom a time or two, and been drenched when those mighty waves came crashing over the sea wall. Gee, what a sight! It puts me in mind of the coast of Maine. That’s the furthest I’d ever been from home, apart from a week in New York.’
‘I’ve never been very far from Blackpool either,’ said Barbara. ‘I spent a week in London with my aunt and uncle just before the war, and I’ve been up to the Lake District. But since the war started we’ve been encouraged to stay at home. Tell me, I know I may sound terribly ignorant but … what does GI stand for?’
‘General infantryman,’ replied Nat. ‘It’s as simple as that.’
Barbara nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure glad to know that,’ she smiled. ‘Another thing – I’m being real nosey, aren’t I? Did you say your last name was … Castillo?’
‘Yes, that’s correct. Nat – short for Nathaniel – Castillo.’
‘It sounds Italian …’
‘That’s because, way back, my forefathers must have come from Italy. We’re a cosmopolitan nation, you see. Folks from all over Europe came to settle in America: Italians, French, Spaniards, Germans, and the British, of course. We’ve got our fair share of Smiths, Browns and Robinsons, same as you have over here. But I suppose my great-great – I don’t know how many greats – grandad must have been Italian. I can’t speak the language, though. Eventually, you see, we all ended up speaking English.’
‘Or your version of it,’ smiled Barbara.
‘Ye-eh, point taken.’ Nat laughed. ‘Some quite amusing differences, aren’t there? I know that when we talk about a “bum” we mean someone who’s lazy, but it has rather a different meaning to you, hasn’t it? We have to be careful or we might be thought indelicate. Although, I asked where the restroom was, in one of your big stores, and the girl looked at me as though I was crazy. Apparently you have no qualms about calling it a toilet or a lavatory? Goodness knows why we Yanks have to be so discreet about it. On the whole, though, we’re united by a common language, aren’t we? And I’ve sure been glad of that. It would have been quite a problem to struggle with a new language as well as everything else.’
The band had now taken over from Ena Baga, and the music of ‘Moonlight Serenade’ was being played. Glenn Miller’s captivating tunes had become very popular in Britain, especially since the arrival of the Americans. ‘In the Mood’, ‘American Patrol’, ‘Pennsylvania, 6-5000’, ‘String of Pearls’; these tunes were heard on the wireless and in dance halls all over the country, but none was more popular than the haunting melody, ‘Moonlight Serenade’.
Nat looked questioningly at Barbara. ‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked.
‘Yes … yes, I would … thank you,’ she replied.
They walked hand in hand to the ballroom floor. Barbara was aware of Dorothy’s eyes on her, and she smiled at her friend. Dorothy w
inked; she, too, seemed to be getting along very well with Nat’s friend, Howard.
It was a slow foxtrot rhythm, the most difficult of all the dances to Barbara; but Albert had taught her well and she was able to follow Nat’s lead quite easily. She wasn’t thinking of Albert, however, at that moment. Nat was not tall, about half a head taller than Barbara, that was all. His hair was neither dark nor fair, just an in-between shade, cut short as regulations required, but it was quite abundant and had a natural wave. His silver-grey eyes were the first thing she had noticed about him; she had known at once that he was a kind and thoughtful sort of person.
He placed his hand in the small of her back and drew her a little closer, and she glanced up at him. His wide mouth curved in a tender smile, and she could not avoid the sudden indrawn breath that she took as their eyes met. The look they exchanged was one of perfect understanding. Barbara knew that was the moment when she started to fall in love with Nat Castillo.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Barbara and Nat were still dancing together as the last waltz was played, the evocative melody ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’ They danced with their heads close together, scarcely moving, just taking small steps and swaying gently in time to the rhythm. Dorothy and Howard were near to them as the band ended the tune on a poignant diminuendo. The dancers all applauded, a tribute to the band and to Ena Baga, then the four of them together walked off the ballroom floor.
It was Howard who made the suggestion. ‘May we have the pleasure of escorting you two ladies home tonight?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ answered Dorothy cheerily. ‘What do you say, Barbara? Shall we let them?’
‘Yes … that would be very nice,’ said Barbara with a shy glance at Nat. He did not speak, just nodded his head and winked.
‘We’ll see you at the top of the stairs, then, near the front entrance,’ said Dorothy. ‘Come on, Barbara; let’s go and get our coats.’
‘Nice fellow, that Howard,’ Dorothy went on, as they stood in the queue for their coats. ‘Good company; great to talk to and have a laugh with. I put him in the picture straight away, though. I told him about Raymond; I thought it was best to tell him. But it appears that he’s married; he’s got a wife and a kiddy – a two-year-old boy – back in the USA. His home’s in Texas. What about you? You seemed to be getting on quite well with Nat. Did you tell him about Albert?’
‘Of course I did!’ replied Barbara, rather edgily. ‘And about Katherine as well. He knew I was married, though, because of my wedding ring.’
‘So that’s all right, then,’ said Dorothy. ‘It’s best to be above board, then we all know where we stand. Is Nat married too?’
‘No, actually he isn’t,’ replied Barbara, as nonchalantly as she was able.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter, so long as he knows that you’re spoken for. I don’t see any harm in them walking back with us tonight. It’s obvious that they’re both very polite, well-brought-up young men. They probably think it’s the right thing to do.’
They left the Tower building at the promenade entrance, turning right towards Talbot Square. Dorothy and Howard were leading the way, with Barbara and Nat close behind as they walked up Talbot Road, then turned left along Dickson Road. At Nat’s invitation Barbara linked her arm through his.
‘It’s good of you to see us home,’ she told him. ‘The blackout can be rather scary sometimes.’ It was a dark night with only a dim crescent moon. ‘Although we’ve all got used to it by now. What about you? How will you get back to your camp?’
‘No problem,’ answered Nat. ‘There’s transport laid on for us from the centre of Blackpool, in about half an hour.’
‘Known as the passion wagons,’ called out Howard, who had overheard the conversation. ‘At least, that’s what some of the guys call them. Those who’ve been up to no good.’
‘Ye-eh …’ Nat laughed. ‘We’ve heard tales of some of your RAF lads taking revenge on the GIs and misdirecting them when they’ve missed their transport back to Warton. Some have found themselves on a tramcar bound for Bispham when they should’ve been going the other way, to Squires Gate.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Barbara. ‘Well, it’s not very far now to where we live.’
Dorothy lived slightly nearer to the centre of the town than did Barbara, so she was the first one to leave the foursome.
‘What do you say that we do this again?’ suggested Howard, as they stood together at Dorothy’s front gate. ‘Same time, same place, next Saturday? Is that OK with you girls?’
Dorothy looked at Barbara. ‘What do you think? Is that all right with you? I’ve enjoyed it tonight.’
‘Yes, so have I,’ agreed Barbara in a quiet voice. ‘Yes, that would be very nice.’ She smiled shyly at Nat. ‘Thank you, both of you, for seeing us home.’
It was Howard who answered. ‘It was a real pleasure, ma’am.’
‘Cheerio, then,’ said Dorothy, walking up her path. ‘See you next week. I’ll be in touch with you, Barbara.’
Nat and Howard walked one on each side of Barbara, along the street and round the next corner to her aunt’s boarding house. She was relieved that the house was in darkness. Her aunt and uncle had no doubt retired for the night, and probably all the RAF recruits, too, who were still stationed there. They were allowed a key if they knew they were going to be late back. The dark street was silent and the three of them found themselves whispering their goodnights.
‘Thank you again,’ said Barbara. ‘See you next Saturday, then.’ They had agreed to meet inside, near to the cloakroom, at seven-thirty.
‘Goodnight, Barbara,’ said Nat. She noticed the note of tenderness in his voice.
‘So long, Barbara,’ said Howard. ‘It’s been swell meeting the two of you. See you soon.’
Barbara and Nat exchanged a telling glance as Howard turned to walk away; then Nat followed him.
What have I done? What on earth was I thinking about? Barbara was to ask herself these same questions time and again over the next few days. She even tried to persuade herself that she must have imagined the intensity of feeling she had experienced on meeting Nat, and had only imagined, too, that it was the same for him. At one point she decided that she would not go on Saturday. This thing, whatever it was, must be nipped in the bud before it was too late. And yet she knew, deep down, that she would be there.
‘I’m glad you’re getting out and about a bit,’ her Aunt Myrtle said to her, when she asked if she and her uncle would look after Katherine again on Saturday. ‘Don’t look so worried about it, dear. Kathy will be perfectly all right with us; she was as good as gold. And you’re not doing anything wrong, going to a dance hall. Did you meet anybody else you knew?’
‘Yes, we met some friends of Dorothy’s,’ said Barbara. ‘They were dancing the jitterbug with some Yanks, and then a few of us got talking. It was rather good fun.’ She didn’t say, however, that they had agreed to meet up again.
Dorothy was unaware of the turmoil going on in her friend’s mind, and Barbara intended to keep it that way.
They met again the following Saturday as they had arranged. Barbara felt dreadful lying to her aunt and uncle. Although it was not really a lie; it was what might be called a half-truth, a lie of omission. She was letting them think that she was just meeting Dorothy as she had done the previous week. The guilt she experienced made her feel that she was doing wrong, but she was to find that as the weeks, then the months, went by, her sense of guilt lessened. By that time she and Nat had fallen so deeply in love that all other considerations were of minor importance.
Excepting for the matter of her dear little daughter, Katherine. She loved her baby girl so very much. She was at the interesting stage now, sitting up and smiling at everyone; she was such a happy little girl. At ten months old she was even trying to talk. She repeated the sounds of ‘ma-ma’ and Barbara convinced herself, as all mothers did, that she was trying to talk to her mummy.
The sounds of ‘da-da’ did not
, as yet, feature in her infant utterances. Albert was able to get a forty-eight-hour pass only occasionally, not long enough for his little daughter to form any lasting memory of him. He was clearly delighted with her; he made a tremendous fuss of her every time he came home, and the little girl would smile winningly at him as she did at most people. It was then that Barbara’s guilt would surface, as she wondered what would be the outcome of this problem. She entered into lovemaking with Albert as she knew she must. She did not think he noticed any reluctance on her part. She was still fond of him and he was always gentle and considerate towards her at such times.
For the first few months the love that was gradually developing between herself and Nat did not reach its fulfilment. They both knew that the consummation was inevitable, but Nat was, deep down, an honourable man. Barbara knew that he was trying to show her that he loved her in every way, and not just in the physical sense; and she knew that she loved him in the same way. They were truly soulmates.
The relationship had begun quite slowly. She greeted Nat in a casual manner the second Saturday evening, the same way that Dorothy greeted Howard. They made their way to the ballroom first of all, where Ena Baga was already well into her stride, playing ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’.
‘Gee whizz! She’s playing my song!’ exclaimed Howard. He sounded pensive for a moment, although he was still smiling. ‘Come on, Dorothy, we must dance this one.’ He took her arm and led her towards the dance floor.
‘That’s his state, Texas,’ remarked Nat. ‘I guess it means as much to him as Vermont means to me. He sure talks a lot about it.’
‘But you’ve never been there?’ asked Barbara.
‘Gosh, no! It’s about as far away as you can imagine from where I live, thousands of miles. And as different as you can imagine as well. Vermont’s one of the smallest states in the USA, right up near the Canadian border, and Texas is one of the largest, way down in the deep south, bordering on Mexico. We get snow, and they get tropical sunshine and hurricanes. We get along great, though, Howard and me. We enlisted at the same time and we’ve stuck together ever since … Care to dance, Barbara?’
Time Goes By Page 26
