by Rosie Clarke
‘I know Harry’s uncle has never forgiven me for his death.’
‘That is so unfair,’ Beth fired up instantly. ‘His death was an accident; Sebastian told you it came out afterwards that there was something wrong with the car’s brakes, and it was in a dangerous condition, not fit to be on the roads. At the time, some people thought it might be suicide, because Harry had been behaving oddly and they thought he was cracking under the pressure of flying dangerous missions, but you can’t think he killed himself, Lizzie?’
‘I never have. I tried to tell his uncle it was an accident, but he wouldn’t speak to me. He thinks it was something I did that made Harry stay away… that I was going with other men… I couldn’t approach Tilly if she’s still working for Oliver – but if her husband is out of work perhaps I could find him a job here…’
‘Oh, no, he’s working at the munitions factory now,’ Beth reassured her. ‘He asked Bernie for a job and he was glad to take him on. That wonky leg of his kept him out of the Army, but he’s strong and he can do the heavy lifting the girls at the factory can’t manage.’
‘Oh, that’s good for Tilly.’ Lizzie felt pleased that Tilly’s husband had found another job. ‘You’d better go. Beth, or your mum will think you’ve had an accident…’
Lizzie went through to the showroom as Beth left. Her friend kept it neat and was good at setting out the hats to make them look attractive. Beth loved hats almost as much as Lizzie did herself, but even so, she liked to keep an eye on the displays. Although they’d done well in the few months the showroom had been open, Lizzie knew they needed more new customers if the business was to grow.
Ed was a marvel. He’d taught Lizzie most of what she knew about making hats, when he’d been the chief cutter at Oliver’s. He loved her flair for design and encouraged her to go for the more fanciful ideas that came to her at times, but without Ed’s advice and help, Lizzie might never have learned how to make her creations take shape. He was the one who had taught her how to get those delightful curvy brims and how to make some of the bolder designs hold their shapes. Together they had been a successful team and Lizzie had invited him to be her partner in the new business when Harry’s uncle threw her out, and though she hadn’t thought so then, it was the best thing that could’ve happened. Forced to stand on her own feet, she’d invested every penny of her own money, but despite his offers to put money in, she’d told Ed to keep his money for the moment. Fortunately, at his age, Ed was unlikely to be called up for the Army, especially as he’d told her about his fallen arches, which had resulted from years of standing at his bench.
‘If I need extra money I’ll ask,’ she’d promised when he’d offered to invest his life savings. ‘I’ve got some money that was left to me by my uncle and it’s enough for now.’
Lizzie frowned as she thought about the business. The little showroom had been busy almost from the day they’d opened just before the previous Christmas, and they’d begun to make a small profit almost immediately, but just recently that profit had dropped a little. Not enough to be worrying, but it made Lizzie wonder if she could afford to take on an experienced seamstress like Tilly even if she asked her for a job. The large order from Mr Barton would help them become established and if he kept his promise to tell his friends and colleagues about her showroom, the business could become successful overnight.
Lizzie’s reverie was suspended as the door opened and a young woman entered. She smiled nervously as she saw Lizzie and then looked about her at the various hats.
‘Is it all right if I try some on?’ she asked. ‘I know Lizzie Larch Hats is a wholesaler’s, but I was told you sometimes make special hats for weddings and things?’
‘Yes, the shop is mainly wholesale,’ Lizzie gave her an encouraging look, ‘but we also have our bespoke hats. Are you looking for something special?’
‘Yes,’ the woman giggled. ‘I’m getting engaged to – well, Geoff is my boss actually. He’s got pots of money and I don’t want his family to look down on me when I go to meet them… but I can’t afford some of the prices up West.’
‘They can be expensive.’ Lizzie was sympathetic. A lot of young women looked at the beautiful hats in West End shops and dreamed of owning one but couldn’t afford the extortionate prices, which was why she served the few working women who ventured in, as well as her main customers. ‘Did you want felt or a straw – or silk? A lot of ladies are going for softer designs now, because of the war. This is my new line for spring – it’s velvet and fits on the back of the head… we may not be able to get velvet soon if stocks run out…’
‘That’s all we hear when we complain, isn’t it?’ the young woman said and laughed. ‘When you ask if the shop has anything nicer they say, “You know there’s a war on, don’t you?” It gets so boring.’
‘Utility fashions aren’t wonderful, are they?’ Lizzie agreed. ‘I quite like the broader shoulders, but the material isn’t as good as we could get before the war started – that’s where a beautiful hat makes all the difference. We’ve been lucky because so far they haven’t made women have coupons for hats.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ the young woman said eagerly. ‘I have a blue suit; it’s new but it looks a bit dull, cheap. I thought a special hat would cheer it up…’
‘I’m sure it would,’ Lizzie said. ‘Pale blue is it?’
‘Yes, sort of sky blue, and I’ve got a white silk blouse to wear under it, second-hand but all right…’
‘The war has made it difficult to buy nice things,’ Lizzie nodded as she thought about the hats she had in stock. ‘I have a lovely white straw hat I’ve just made, but it’s still in the workroom. If you’d like to try a few others on, I’ll fetch it for you.’
‘Thanks ever so…’
Lizzie left the young woman to try on the hats and popped through to the back room. She picked up the white hat she’d made that morning. It was a broad-brimmed white straw hat finished with a pretty navy blue ribbon and a silk rose. She thought the simple style would look very well on the young woman waiting in the shop. Picking it up, she heard the shop bell go and frowned. Had someone come in or had the young woman gone?
She saw the showroom was empty as she returned and frowned. Why hadn’t the customer waited? She’d seemed happy to do so and Lizzie had only been gone a couple of minutes. Glancing round the room, she saw that a red cloche with a silk rose trim and a navy blue straw fedora were missing from their stands and she rushed to the door to look out, but the narrow street was empty, apart from the back of a shabby van just disappearing round the corner. It was a commercial area, not far from the Docks, populated by tradespeople who often lived over their workshops, and most of the buildings were old, but, unusually, there was no one around.
Lizzie felt sick and humiliated as she went back inside and closed the door, locking it after her. She’d been duped and robbed and wasn’t sure which hurt most. It wasn’t time to close up, but she felt too upset to serve any more customers that evening. What an idiot she’d been to leave the woman in the shop even for a moment!
‘I’ve finished for the day,’ Ed said, coming in from the stockroom. ‘We need a few things ordering, Lizzie. I’ll do it tomorrow…’ He stopped as he saw her face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve been an idiot,’ she said and explained what had happened. Ed shook his head, his kind, homely face concerned for her.
‘It’s a good lesson learned,’ he said. ‘You’re too trusting.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ Lizzie said ruefully. ‘Well, I shan’t make that mistake again, shall I?’
‘It’s all right if you know and trust a customer, but even then be careful,’ Ed said. ‘Oliver had a few bad debts in the early years, but after that he wouldn’t give anyone credit unless he knew them well. Some folk will take advantage if they can, but I’m not sure the police would be interested.’
‘She seemed so unsure of herself and I wanted to help.’ Lizzie shook her head and changed the su
bject. Telling the police would be a waste of time when they had more important things to do. ‘What are you doing this evening, Ed?’
‘Oh, I’ll walk down to the pub for a pie and a pint,’ he said. ‘Same as usual. I might listen to Dick Barton on the radio. My Madge used to like the concerts – Henry Hall and the like, but I don’t bother much these days. Just the news now and then…’
Lizzie nodded, knowing that he still missed the wife he’d loved terribly. Her death in a fire caused by a gas explosion had shattered him. He’d lost his home that day too and for a while it had seemed that he’d no longer had the will to live, but working here with Lizzie he had found himself again. Yet she knew he must be lonely and she tried to invite him round every now and then even though she knew he was still grieving for his wife and didn’t feel like going out much.
‘You know you’re always welcome to come to us for a meal, Ed?’
‘Yes, I shall one Sunday…’
‘Make it this Sunday,’ Lizzie said. Ed looked pleased as he nodded then turned and went up to his flat above the workrooms.
Lizzie locked up the workrooms. She was glad Ed had decided to come, because he spent too much time alone.
Lizzie understood his loneliness. Three months had passed since she’d last seen Sebastian… had those few days over Christmas been as wonderful as she remembered? Had he really held her close and told her she was the only woman he’d ever loved – and had he meant it? Would he come back to her when the war was over or would she wake up and discover it was a dream and he’d simply been flirting with her after all?
Sebastian Winters had always believed in Lizzie’s talent. From the start he’d wanted her to work for him in his West End shop, to design beautiful hats for the wealthy clients he served, but she’d resisted. She’d thought he was a womanizer and would let her down, but she’d been wrong to listen to gossip as he’d turned out to be a better man than Harry. It was Sebastian who’d given her the courage to become what she’d always wanted to be – a designer of beautiful hats.
Lizzie had known that Sebastian wanted her, but she hadn’t been sure just what that meant. If she’d trusted him at the start, refused to listen to idle talk she might have been his wife and her unhappy marriage would never have happened. She’d thought Harry loved her and she’d been grateful, eager to get away from the aunt who hated her, but Harry had set her on a pedestal and when he’d discovered the secret of her past, he’d been bitter and cruel in his disappointment. Sebastian knew nothing about the rape and miscarriage that had robbed Lizzie of more than a year of her life when she was fourteen and still an innocent child, of the months when she’d lain in hospital not knowing who she was or what had happened to her – she still didn’t remember the attack, though she now knew that she’d been beaten and abused. For years she’d been allowed to believe that it was merely an accident and that was Uncle Jack’s fault; he’d thought he was protecting her, but in the end her ignorance of the facts had led to unhappiness for both her and Harry. He’d thought her a virgin and when he’d discovered the truth he’d been so hurt and angry that it had destroyed their chance of happiness.
She would have to tell Sebastian the truth one day, but somehow she didn’t think he would react as Harry had when he learned the truth on their wedding night. Sebastian didn’t see her as some kind of a Vestal virgin – he thought of her as a desirable, talented woman he loved and wanted. He’d encouraged her talent for designing beautiful hats, and asked her to work for him, but she’d thought he was merely flirting. How she wished she’d waited instead of rushing into marriage with Harry, out of gratitude and loneliness.
Oh, how she wished Sebastian would be waiting for her when she got home! She wanted to have him close, to make a warm comfortable nest for them, and her lovely Betty, where they could be happy together as a family and all the pain and fear of the war would go away.
Home to Lizzie and Beth was the good solid house that her uncle had left her in his will, as recompense she sometimes thought. Uncle Jack had blamed himself for her accident, as he termed it, and his gift had made his wife Jane furious. She’d turned her hatred on Lizzie, almost ruining her life with her nagging and cruel accusations, but she was dead now and Lizzie had forgiven her. Her aunt had been a sad bitter woman and Lizzie couldn’t hate her – even though what she’d done had contributed to Harry’s jealousy. If only Lizzie had been told the truth about what had happened to her when she was fourteen, perhaps she would have found the courage to tell Harry before they married and everything would have been different. Yet a little voice in her head told her that her marriage had been a mistake, because she’d given into Harry’s urgings before she’d known her own mind. She had loved him, but perhaps not enough to be his wife.
She pushed the regrets from her mind. It was time to go home to her friend and the children. Lizzie had offered Beth the chance to live with her when Beth’s father had made it clear he didn’t want her and her children living under his roof.
Beth wasn’t married and Mr Court had taken offence at his daughter’s loose behaviour. He’d been hostile to her, forbidding her mother to have her at home at the start, though he’d got over that once the children were born. There was a sort of truce between the two now, because he was fond of the twins even though he didn’t say much to Beth. Even so, she preferred to live with Lizzie, at least until she married and Lizzie was certain Beth would marry in time, if only for the sake of her twins…and it was hard bringing up children on just her wage, even though they shared the expenses.
Suddenly, becoming aware of something, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder and shivered, because she’d had the sensation that she was being followed. The street was well lit and she saw the man clearly. He was standing next to a red telephone kiosk wearing a greatcoat, the collar turned up about his neck and a trilby hat pulled down low over his face so that it was in shadow. A trickle of ice ran down her spine, because she was fairly certain he’d followed her all the way from the showrooms.
For a moment the old fear flared up in her, the fear of being attacked as she’d been that night when she was fourteen, the fear she thought she’d conquered since she’d learned the truth. As she saw the tram draw to a halt at the stop, she ran to join the others crowding on. She didn’t want to miss it and have to wait for ages when someone was lurking in the shadows.
‘Just caught it,’ the tram conductor said and grinned at her. He was a friendly little man, in his seventies if he was a day, and enjoyed being called out to do essential work because the younger men had gone off to war. ‘Your old man will think you’re never comin’ home, love. You want to get in afore they start up – if they do tonight. Safe and tight with your family that’s where you ought to be.’
‘I don’t have a husband,’ Lizzie said, glancing briefly over her shoulder but unable to see the man she was certain had followed her. ‘Just a sweetheart – and he’s away.’
‘Well, poor devil, even if he’s at the Front, he’d want you to be safe before those buggers get going…’
He was referring to the bombing, which had been horrific for months now. Sometimes the night sky would turn crimson with the glow of all the fires from incendiary bombs or the gas explosions they caused, and the emergency services were at full stretch, young women helping to drive the fire tenders and man the phones. You could never tell when Hitler’s Luftwaffe would pay another little visit; if it wasn’t London’s docklands and factories, or the rows of back-to-back houses in the East End, it would be somewhere on the coast or one of the other big cities. Even Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament had been hit, though it was the docks and factories that were getting the worst of it. Parts of the East End had been reduced to piles of smouldering rubble, huge heaps of it where houses had stood, the families they sheltered left injured, dead or homeless. Some people camped out in the ruins, living like rats in the cellars, while others moved in with family elsewhere or wandered from shelter to shelter. Many others had simply deserted
their lives and gone away, either to the country or, if they were young enough, to join the services and fight.
‘Yes,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘I’m glad I did catch you. I think I was being followed…’
‘Followed, were you?’ He looked concerned. ‘There’s some funny types about these days… with the war an’ all. He might ’ave been a spy. I’d give the so-and-so a good hiding if I got ’old of him. You be careful, love – and if you see him again shout for the police.’
‘Yes,’ Lizzie said, smiling. ‘I shall.’
She felt better now she was on the tram and heading home. She was probably making something out of nothing, but she could never quite conquer the fear that what had happened to her when she was fourteen might happen again…
Chapter 2
‘I’m worried about Mary,’ Beth’s mother said when they took the children to her first thing the next morning. ‘She was round here last night, crying and carrying on – and if she doesn’t pull herself together, she’ll end up losing the baby.’
‘Oh no,’ Lizzie said, immediately concerned. ‘What’s wrong – is there anything I can do?’
‘No, love, but it’s good of you to ask,’ Mrs Court said and smiled at her approvingly. ‘Mary hasn’t heard from Andy for weeks and she thinks something has happened to him. I keep telling her she will get a telegram if it has, but she says she can feel something is wrong inside. It’s so bad for the baby…’
Lizzie nodded, understanding because both she and Beth had been in similar situations. Beth’s Mark had promised to marry her on his next leave from the Merchant Navy, but he’d been killed and she’d discovered that she was carrying the twins; the children that had been born of a brief but sweet love affair right at the beginning of the war. Lizzie had lost her husband, and even though the love she’d first felt for him had faded, his death had been hard to bear. He was young and vital and to think of a life wasted in that way was terrible. Harry was after all the father of Betty, the joy of her life, even if she had been conceived out of anger. She found it easy to understand that Mary was worried about her husband.
