by I'll Get By
‘You know very well it’s not.’ He ruffled her carefully styled hair as if she were his pet dog. ‘Margaret happens to be a valued client.’
And she’d imagined she was his date. Meggie’s ears began to burn and her gaze went to him, her mind ticking over in a slow burning count. ‘It’s getting late, perhaps I’d better be going.’
‘Put her in a taxi cab then come back, Rennie . . . the night is young and we’re going over to Ernie’s place.’
He must have remembered his duty for he said, ‘Don’t bother waiting, Pam. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’ He pulled back Meggie’s chair, smiling apologetically down at her after she’d followed him through the patrons. When they reached the cloakroom and the attendant moved away to get their coats, he said, ‘Pam is perfectly all right when she’s sober.’
Even so, every pore of Meggie’s curiosity had its antenna up to catch any whisper of information he offered her. The words were practically wrenched from her gut. ‘You don’t have to make excuses for her, I could see she was tiddly.’
‘I will anyway. Pam and I were engaged to be married until recently.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I see.’
He chuckled. ‘Congratulations, not many people can see nothing.’
His irony was wounding. ‘I see why you told her I was a client. You didn’t want to hurt her feelings.’
‘You are a client, and Pam’s feelings are already hurt. She hit the nail on the head when she asked me if I was dating children. It made me feel as though taking someone of your age out was wrong.’
‘Do you think my feelings are untouched. I’ve been talked down to, or talked about considerably tonight, and forced to sit there like a stuffed dummy. Being patronized in such a way has diminished me in my own eyes. It never entered my head that I was a duty date. I thought you liked me.’
‘I do like you . . . and I didn’t intend for you to feel that way. The fact is, Margaret, you are a client, and it’s a conflict of interest for me to attempt any kind of relationship with you. Is there anything more you want to know?’
She winced at his biting anger. ‘Obviously not. I wouldn’t dare ask.’
‘Good.’ He took her coat from the attendant and placed it around her shoulders. It was gone midnight when she arrived home. Her aunt had left both the porch and hall lights on for her.
She didn’t wait for him to open the car door, but stalked up the house steps and fiddled with her keys. He followed her.
They’d been quiet in the car, but she turned when she was safely inside, ‘Thank you, Rennie. I enjoyed myself tonight . . . mostly.’ She wanted to ask him if she would see him again but there was something conventional about him, and he might think it a bit too forward. All the same he’d been pleasant company for the most part, even if Pamela had proved to be a distraction for him.
‘I’m sorry Pam spoiled our evening,’ he said. ‘I’m even sorrier that I did. Can you forgive me?’
To a certain extent Meggie had held on to her temper, and for that she felt proud. ‘She didn’t spoil it, because I enjoyed tonight, despite her intervention, and your about-turn.’
‘I’m willing to take the blame if your feelings are dented because I encouraged you to think there was more to this than there actually is.’ He gently kissed her on the forehead. ‘I enjoyed myself too. You’re an intelligent girl. Think about it, Margaret.’
‘Your former fiancée was right about me being too young for you, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, she was, and it served as a good reminder for me. You should enjoy the freedom of your youth. Friends, then?’
She nodded.
‘Goodnight, my dear.’ He turned and headed for the car, which had been left at the kerb with the engine quietly ticking over.
‘How old are you?’ She said to his back.
‘Thirty-two.’
‘That’s almost an antique. You know something, Rennie Stone, you might think you’re old enough to be my grandfather, but you don’t fool me. I’m going to grow older and dazzle you, just you wait and see.’
He turned, his smile wide. ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’
‘Whichever you see it as.’
He made it clear what he thought of her by saying, ‘Invite me to your coming-of-age party.’
She closed the front door and bolted it, then turned off the hall light and crept up to her bedroom, wondering if she’d ever see him again. Perhaps it was better for it to end this way, before she fell in love with him. She appreciated the fact that he’d let her down lightly.
Men! They were so complicated, she thought, just before she fell asleep.
All sorts of patriotic things were going on. People flew the Union Jack, and there were noisy meetings everywhere as the latest news from Europe was digested and debated. Generally the tone was pessimistic.
In July, Meggie and her aunt were walking across Hyde Park when they were drawn into the crowd watching a National Service parade. A small number of WRNS officers were part of the parade. They looked incredibly smart in their uniforms as they marched along, and they wore flattering little hats.
‘I’d like to join them.’
‘Esmé smiled at her. ‘You’re always so eager to jump into anything that comes into your mind. I know it’s difficult at your age, but you should think things through a bit more carefully.’
‘It always seems like the right thing to do the very moment I think of it. When I try it out it’s never as good as I initially thought it would be.’
They looked at each other and laughed.
Later, remembering she’d joined the WRNS waiting list, Meggie wrote them a letter, declaring – untruthfully – that she was just about to turn nineteen and enquiring if her earlier application was still valid.
Three weeks later she received a reply that interviews were being arranged and she’d be informed in due course.
Nicholas had no idea of what James Bethuen’s portfolio consisted of, and neither, it seemed, as the lunch progressed, did James Bethuen.
The fact that he’d changed the appointment until the following week had not sat well with his father. There was method in his madness though. To start with he didn’t intend to dance to James Bethuen’s tune. Also, he would compare favourably with Michael Foggerty,
‘Lord Cowan,’ Bethuen said, his smile almost ingratiating as he’d got to his feet. He offered Nick a limp, damp handshake, one Nick would have wiped on his trouser leg, except the suit had only been delivered the previous day by his tailor, Dege & Skinner. He rather liked the grey double-breasted jacket, and the trousers with their turn-ups. With it he wore a royal blue tie and two-toned brogues. Removing his trilby he placed it on the hatstand along with his raincoat.
‘I’m glad you arrived on time since I was just about to order.’ His host beckoned to the waiter.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve cut it a bit fine. I’ve just come from my gym, so had a good workout followed by a Turkish bath and a massage. There was a bit of a rally of some sort going on in Hyde Park and it slowed me down.’
‘It was probably some communist scum planning mischief. What this country needs is more people like Oswald Mosley.’
‘You don’t believe in a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work then?’ Nick said evenly.
‘Of course, but the riff-raff need keeping under control else they’ll walk all over the rest of us. You’re only a minute late. Would you care for a drink?’
‘A dry sherry as an appetizer would be nice.’
‘What do you recommend?’ Bethuen said to the waiter.
‘The steak and kidney pie is good, sir.’
Bethuen’s stomach rumbled. ‘I’ll have that then, and jam roly-poly with custard to follow.’
‘A little too heavy for me this time of day, I’m afraid,’ and Nick’s glance ran down the page. ‘I’ll have the braised cod with new potatoes, carrots and peas.’
‘A pudding sir?’ the waiter as
ked.
‘Just the cheese board, and a half bottle of wine; the house white will do fine, and coffee to follow.’
‘Yes, sir.’
When James Bethuen patted his paunch it resonated like a drum. ‘You young chaps believe in working to stay slim. Still, I suppose it attracts the popsies. Wait till you’re married and middle-aged like me. It will soon catch up with you.’
It hadn’t caught up with Nick’s father, who was disciplined where food was concerned, and was tall, slim and wiry. But then, his father hadn’t been married for several years, and was probably still hoping for a suitable mate to come along. Nick hoped he’d take after him for looks. ‘Yes, I suppose it will,’ he said agreeably.
James Bethuen leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Now, about this position. I can’t tell you much about it except it needs a man with an exceptional brain, fluency in several languages, and the ability to set up and organize a small workforce. It’s hush-hush, you see, and attached to the war office. It’s an essential service, which means you’ll be exempt from doing national service.’
That suited Nick.‘Can you give me some idea of what’s required?’
‘It will be code-breaking and stuff to start with. Mostly paperwork. You’ll be attached to one of the services so will need uniforms, and you’ll be required to attend an officer’s course. That’s about all I can tell you for now . . . except you might be approached from time to time to do outside work, which may or may not be dangerous, and that work of a nature where your own wits and intellect will be called upon, but not officially recognized. Someone will kit you out with a radio for your yacht.’
‘Which branch of the services would that be, sir?’
‘Oh, it will be the Senior Service I should imagine, dear boy. You’ll need uniforms for the sake of appearances, but your tailor will be able to kit you out. Tell them to send the account to me. I’ll deal with it.’
‘Navy,’ Nick thought later. It could have been worse. He just hoped nobody took it into their head to send him to sea.
Seven
September 1939
The talking was over. Hitler’s promises had proved to be empty, and Poland had been invaded. The negotiations had been dragged out and prolonged. Now, Neville Chamberlain was addressing the nation, his voice grave to reflect his utter disappointment at the outcome of his efforts.
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet room at Ten, Downing Street. This morning the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany . . .’
‘So it’s official,’ Leo said when the broadcast ended.
‘Does this mean we won’t be able to return to Australia?’ Esmé sounded disappointed.
‘We’ll have to wait until after the war, my love. They’re not going to run cruises . . . all the ships will be converted into troop ships.’
Girton College was off the menu too, deferred by necessity.
As Rennie had indicated before, the Sinclair estate was almost bankrupt. He had encouraging news though. A government department had commandeered Foxglove House and would pay for the refurbishment and any alterations needed.
‘If there’s anything personal you need from there . . . it will have to be removed by Christmas,’ he advised. ‘I’ve sent a letter to that effect to Doctor Elliot. And Margaret . . . as this comes under the Official Secrets Act you must not discuss it with anyone.’
‘It sounds very cloak and daggerish?’
He laughed. ‘It’s a necessary precaution to remind you that there’s a war on, and to be careful what you say to strangers, or in public where it can be overheard. You’ll have to sign a statement saying you’re aware of the Official Secrets Act, and will be advised by it. It will serve to remind you that you’re privy to classified material and remind you that the act exists, and can be invoked if need be. Can you come into the office the day after tomorrow at eleven? I’ll make sure you understand all the nuances.’
‘My first impression is that it involves not being involved. Must I come to the office?’
‘Perhaps we could lunch together, after.’
It wasn’t a bad sweetener. ‘I’d like that, Rennie.’
Meggie’s mother surprised her with a phone call the next day. There’s a legacy from your father, Richard Sangster. It will be yours to do what you like with when you turn twenty-one, but I’ll release it before if you definitely get a place at Girton College. And there’s some jewellery that belonged to your Sinclair-Sangster grandmother. I’ll never wear it and I don’t imagine you will. It could be sold.’
‘Oh, we don’t have to worry about that now, Mother. I’ve deferred any further education until after the war.’
‘I see, and I’m relieved. It’s not a good idea to dispose of your assets when the world is in such turmoil. In the meantime we can’t have you living off your uncle and aunt. You must try and find employment and support yourself above and beyond your allowance. It shouldn’t be too hard with a war on. Is that clear, Meggie?’
‘Yes, Mother. I do have other irons in the fire, and I have an interview in a day or two. You have your lecture voice on. Are you annoyed with me for something?’
‘Force of habit, I suppose. Just be careful. You’re prone to making important decisions on the spur of the moment. I’m a little disappointed. I thought you might work nearby for a few years, marry, then settle down and have a family, rather than try and compete in a male-dominated profession where proficiency is achieved only after many years’ hard work. You could always join the Women’s Institute and do volunteer work, or take up nursing like your aunt. Why are you always trying to draw attention to yourself by being different?’
The last thing Meggie wanted to do was argue with her mother over this but it was her life. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing? All I want is to live my life in a way that suits me. I know I wouldn’t make a good nurse. If you’re so keen on nursing why didn’t you take it up yourself?’
There was a moment of silence. ‘I didn’t get the chance. Circumstances for me were very different. I had no choice but to work as a maid when I was sixteen. I had Chad and Esmé to raise. Then you. And then the boys came along.’
Meggie was quite aware of the sacrifice her mother had made, and thankful she could make a choice, and didn’t have to work at some necessary, but menial task.‘But didn’t you do that so we’d all have a good future in front of us?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then you’re achieving what you set out to do. Would you rather have been a nurse?’
‘Of course not. I loved being a mother.’
‘So you did what you wanted to do. It’s just that the circumstances were different and you didn’t have much choice. That being the case, why should you object to me doing what I want to do? Just for once, could you, at least, credit me with some sense that I actually do know what’s best for me. After all, you created me and brought me up, so I am what you made me.’
‘Yes . . . I suppose you are. Just remember you’re still only seventeen.’
‘Nearly eighteen.’ She felt a little rush of guilt when she remembered lying about her age in her letter to the WRNS.
She could almost hear her mother shrug, and predictably, she did what she usually did when she didn’t want to answer Meggie’s questions – changed the subject. ‘Are you coming down for your Uncle Chad’s wedding?’
‘Yes of course. We’ll probably come by train now petrol is rationed to a quota of miles per month. It will save Leo’s allowance. It will be an uncomfortable journey though, with the trains full of refugee children being sent to the country.’
‘Yes, I suppose it will . . . we intend to take two girls in. Luke is grumbling because he’ll have to move back into the same roo
m with Adam if you return home, but it can’t be helped. The children have to go somewhere. They’ll be able to help me about the house when they’re not at school. I expect Chad and Sylvia will take in a couple of children too, once they’re settled.
‘Leo and Es can have the couch in the front room while you’re here, or you can all sleep at Foxglove House for the night. We can prepare a couple of rooms there.’
‘It’s hardly worth it for one night.’
Meggie felt like an outsider again. It had always seemed to her that everyone else in the family came before her. Although she loved her mother, and knew that love was reciprocated, they had never really been easy together. Sometimes she thought she’d been born to the wrong mother. She should have been Aunt Esmé’s daughter since they got on so well together. She reached for something to say. ‘Have you heard that Foxglove House is being let to the government for the duration of the war?’
‘Yes, though I don’t know what they intend to do with it. Perhaps it’s top secret.’
‘How can it be when everyone is talking about it? There are rumours of the place becoming an orphanage, a convalescent home, a secret hideaway for the Prime Minister, a place where spies are trained and a prison camp! Oh . . . my goodness. How jolly exciting war is. No wonder we mustn’t talk about it.’
‘You won’t think war is so funny when food and clothes rationing comes in and there are foreign soldiers running all over our fields and smashing our front doors in.’
A shiver ran through Meggie. ‘I don’t think it’s funny now, and I don’t think our own soldiers will allow that to happen. But if we’re overwhelmed there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We’ll just have to learn to live with it.’
Her mother gave a bit of a snort. ‘I’ve gone through the place and rescued the good china, the ornaments, silverware, pictures and anything else of value I could find. We’ve stored it in that brick shed at the back of Nutting Cottage, at least Chad can keep an eye on it there. Then there’s the furniture.’
