by Molly Green
For the hundredth time, she wondered how Edwin could possibly have forsaken his own baby. To have offered her money to get rid of his child. The pain of his casual dismissal of Teddy was just as wounding now as it had been when she’d first told him she was pregnant. But in spite of the shock of seeing Edwin again, she realised one thing had definitely changed. She was no longer in love with Mr Edwin Blake. Even more surprising – she knew now, when it was all too late, that she never had been.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Edwin weighed heavily on Maxine’s mind as she hurried along Hope Street to the Philharmonic Hall, of which the people of Liverpool were so proud. She looked up at the building that had replaced the previous one, irreparably damaged by a fire. Her father had mentioned this new one was designed in the Streamline Moderne style, and she remembered the buzz of excitement when it had officially opened just before England was at war.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts, she didn’t even see Crofton as he sprinted towards her, making her jump.
‘Gosh, I don’t usually have that effect on women,’ Crofton said, kissing her cheek. ‘I’m glad we’re early so we can take our time. Relax. We could probably both do with a bit of that.’
She smiled at him as they walked along in perfect step. He grinned back and took her hand. He was so easy to be with. She wasn’t on edge the way she’d been with Edwin – forever worrying that she wasn’t good enough for his family, and not clever enough for Edwin himself.
‘Penny for them,’ Crofton winked as he steered her through the door of the restaurant.
‘Oh, just nonsense really.’ She felt her face grow a little warm and was glad he was behind her and couldn’t tell.
‘Good evening, Madam – Sir.’ A waiter came up to them. ‘Have you booked a table?’
‘Yes. Name is Wells.’
The waiter nodded. ‘Come this way, Sir.’
When they were settled and had menus, Maxine asked, ‘Do you know the programme this evening?’
‘I believe they’re playing one of my favourites – Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. One. And some shorter pieces – probably by other composers.’ He regarded her steadily with his warm brown eyes and she felt herself melt. ‘Does that sound all right?’
‘It sounds wonderful.’
‘There’s not a great choice,’ Crofton said, ruefully, as he scanned the menu.
‘There is a war on, you know,’ Maxine teased.
Crofton’s eyes twinkled. ‘Aren’t I always reminded. That’s why I was determined to be in civvies this evening. To forget about the war for a few precious hours and just enjoy your company.’ He smiled at her.
She liked that he’d said the hours they were about to spend together were precious to him. Then she just as swiftly brushed the thought away. It was too dangerous. She wasn’t ready … not brave enough to get involved …
They’d both chosen the fish and chips and peas, and Crofton ordered two glasses of wine. He’d wanted to order a bottle but she wouldn’t let him.
‘I can only drink one glass or I’ll fall asleep.’
‘And then I’d have to pick you up and carry you out of here,’ he chuckled, ‘though it might be awkward getting you into the seat at the concert.’
Their banter helped take her mind off Edwin and his threat, but once or twice she caught Crofton looking at her quizzically, and then he said, ‘Maxine, is anything troubling you?’
‘I’m not being the best company, am I?’
‘It’s not that at all. But if you’ve something on your mind you can tell me. It will never go any further. I have an older sister and even she comes to me sometimes for advice.’
‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ Maxine said, grateful the conversation had steered away from her. It was strange how he knew something was worrying her even though she was desperately trying to hide it. ‘What is her name?’
‘Natalie.’
‘Is she married?’
‘Oh, yes. Two children – Toby and Jemima. Five-year-old twins. Little rascals, but adorable.’
She could see the affection he had for all of them in his eyes.
‘And you? Any siblings?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘Mickey, my older brother. Always in trouble.’ She wouldn’t mention prison. ‘He worries my parents to death. He doesn’t seem at all like a brother. I hardly know him.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Crofton finished his wine and smiled at her. ‘Try not to worry about him too much. He can obviously look after himself.’
‘Oh, it’s not Mickey I’m worried about—’ She stopped herself in time.
‘Then who is it?’
She shook her head and her eyes grew moist. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, but before she could reach for her handkerchief, Crofton leaned forward and gently brushed it away with his finger.
‘Don’t get upset, Maxine,’ he said softly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of pressing you. But if you ever want to talk about it, promise you’ll think of me.’
‘I will.’ She gave him a watery smile.
In the concert hall, they found their seats – the last two on the aisle – reminding Maxine of the first time they met. It would be different this time. He was no longer a stranger but a rather dear familiar figure. Her heart beat a little louder and ridiculously she hoped he wouldn’t hear it. As if he could.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered as the lights went down and the orchestra struck up.
‘Yes, I am now.’
‘Good.’ He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers through her own.
She sat back and closed her eyes, acutely aware of her hand, nestled safe and warm in Crofton’s, and let Chopin’s music weave its magic.
There was a silence for quite some seconds after the final notes faded away and Maxine stole a glance at Crofton. He caught her looking and smiled at her so tenderly it melted her insides. She smiled back as the audience gave the pianist and orchestra a thunderous applause.
‘My hands are stinging with all that clapping,’ she said as they made their way outside.
‘Mine too. We obviously need to harden them up by going to lots more concerts.’
So he intended there to be more outings. Her heart lifted.
‘What time is your last bus?’ Crofton asked.
‘Half past ten.’
‘We have half an hour.’ He looked directly at her. ‘Shall we go and have a drink somewhere?’
‘That’d be lovely.’
‘Let’s try The Cracke down Rice Street. It’s small but cosy on a cold night.’ He looked at her. ‘Ever been there?’
She thought of the times before the war when Johnny had taken her by the arm, saying he was dying for a beer. They’d often ended up at Ye Cracke. She was never crazy about pubs but she’d gone anyway. It was a chance to be with him, the same as when she was a child. They’d been happy in those days – she hadn’t been faced with the dilemma of whether she should marry him or not when she’d only ever thought of him as her best friend. And there was no war on.
‘A few times – with my late husband,’ she gulped.
‘Will you be all right?’ Crofton sounded concerned as he took her hand firmly in his.
She nodded.
Ye Cracke was a charming old pub that had managed to escape any updating. Thankfully it wasn’t as busy as it had often been with Johnny, but that was probably down to so many young men being away at war, though there was still plenty of chatter and laughter. Crofton found them a seat in a dimly lit corner of the room, showing no surprise when she asked him if she could just have a cup of tea.
She watched him as he walked towards her, carrying a tea tray and a half-pint of beer, giving her that special smile which lit up his face. She liked the way a lock of hair hung over his forehead. The strong nose. His mouth. For a crazy moment she wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers. Her pulse raced with the thought. But the clock was ticking. Quarter of an hour. And then he’d be gone. She’d be on th
e bus rumbling its way back to Bingham Hall and he would hitch a ride back to camp. Her tomorrow would likely be safe: his would be packed with risk and drama, his very life at stake. She swallowed hard.
‘You’ve gone very solemn again, Maxine,’ Crofton said, setting out her tea and taking the seat opposite.
‘I was thinking …’
‘About what?’ He downed some of the beer.
‘You,’ she blurted.
‘Me?’ He pointed to himself in an exaggerated gesture, making her laugh. ‘I love seeing you smile, Maxine, and even better to hear your laughter. I get the feeling you don’t do this very often.’
‘I didn’t used to be serious,’ Maxine said. ‘But the older you get, you change, don’t you? At least I do. You know all the bad things that can happen.’
‘Don’t dwell on the bad things … try to look for the good.’ Crofton gazed at her. Their eyes held. Without warning, he leaned over the small table and lightly kissed her lips. The air crackled between them. ‘I refuse to apologise,’ Crofton said, ‘because I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.’
‘I’ve wanted you to kiss me for ages,’ Maxine found herself admitting.
‘Really?’ Crofton’s mouth twitched at the corners. ‘Never thought of you as a brazen hussy.’
She grinned. ‘Will this convince you?’ And she bent towards him and pressed her lips firmly on his.
Immediately she felt the pressure of his response as his kiss lingered. She didn’t know who drew away first.
‘Phew!’ Crofton raised both eyebrows and gazed at her unwaveringly. ‘I’d like to try that again – in private.’
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. All of a sudden she felt happy. Happier than she’d felt for a very long time. He seemed to catch her mood because he took her hand and winked at her. They talked about his parents who’d lived in their Shropshire house where he and their other three children had been born – Natalie and Ernest, who was in the Navy, and Lucy, only seventeen, who couldn’t wait to join up. He told her how he’d been in his last year as an architect, hoping to open his own practice, before all his plans were altered. Before he knew it, he was in Coastal Command at Liverpool docklands, though he didn’t elaborate any further.
‘I should be able to pick up my studies again when it’s over,’ he said, his warm brown eyes gazing at her as though he never wanted to stop looking at her face, ‘but war changes you. I might decide to do something different.’
She was intrigued. ‘Like what?’
He held his gaze. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a photographer – I’m pretty good with a camera.’
Maxine gave a start. ‘That’s quite a change.’ She tucked the piece of information into the corner of her mind.
‘I know. But my father wanted me to get what he considered “proper qualifications”, so he well and truly nipped that idea.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘But I’m a bit too old now for him to influence me the way he used to.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry to run on. You must be bored sick.’
She shook her head. She’d be happy for him to go on talking to her forever.
‘Well, it’s your turn next – promise?’ He smiled. ‘I want to hear all about your family. You mentioned a brother? Is he in the forces?’
Mickey. She swallowed. How could she possibly tell Crofton about him? The thieving, the black marketeering? How dreadfully upset she and her parents were that he’d gone to prison. A poster on the wall opposite caught her eye – a blonde, languishing on a chair surrounded by three men. ‘Keep mum – she’s not so dumb’, and underneath was written: ‘Careless talk costs lives’. She gave a sigh and saw Crofton’s eyes swivel to the poster.
‘The warning stuck on the wall in the mess is a bit more imaginative than that,’ he said. ‘Listen to this:
‘Never in the bar or barbers
Talk of ships or crews or harbours
Idle words – things heard or seen
Help the lurking submarine.’
He looked at her and threw her a smile. ‘Oh, dear, you’re looking serious again.’
‘It’s just another reminder about how dangerous your job is.’
‘You mustn’t worry about me.’ Crofton glanced at his watch. ‘If you’ve finished, we should start walking to the bus stop. I’ll come back with you.’
‘You certainly will not,’ Maxine said, jumping to her feet. ‘I’ll be perfectly all right.’
Crofton took her hand again. It felt beautifully, wonderfully natural as they walked to the bus stop where two other couples and two giggling girls were waiting.
‘It’ll be dark down that lane,’ he said, as they took their place at the end of the queue.
‘I have my torch. Look.’ Maxine opened her handbag and showed it to him. ‘And before you ask, I’ve got my piece of tissue paper to dim the beam so I don’t get told off by a passing warden.’
‘I still don’t like to leave you.’
‘Me neither, but not because I’m scared to go home alone.’
The words had slipped out. He put his hands on her shoulders and gazed at her intensely, his eyes darkening in the gloom. Then he took her in his arms and this time there was the deepest longing as she received his kiss. And just as the bus came round the corner, she knew she was falling in love.
It was only when she was in bed reliving Crofton’s kisses that her cousin’s plight took hold again. She had to do something to stop Pearl from going down the same path she’d gone, and the misery that man had brought her.
She sighed. Her mind was buzzing with Crofton. Her head filled with sensations she’d never dreamed she’d feel for any man again. She was sure he was beginning to care for her, but he’d only seen her best side. If he knew what she was hiding, he’d bow out of her life in an instant. The thought that one day she would lose him made her tremble. What had he said? Don’t dwell on the bad things … try to look for the good. Somehow the idea comforted her a little. She would try to sort it out tomorrow. But now she needed sleep.
Crofton wanted to be quiet, to think. Even though it was late, he needed a coffee, so he decided to wander over to the officers’ mess. There shouldn’t be anyone about much at this time of the night.
Late though it was, there was the usual buzz, but thankfully he didn’t see anyone he recognised as he sat down at one of the tables in the corner, where he hoped he wouldn’t be disturbed, and asked the steward to bring him a cup of coffee. Aware that he should let it cool down a little, he took a gulp, burning his top lip on the edge of the porcelain cup as the hot liquid ran down his throat. The sudden sharp pain and the overpowering chicory taste made him pull a face. It was a poor substitute for coffee and he didn’t know why he’d bothered.
But he’d needed time to think. He couldn’t get Maxine’s kisses out of his mind. She was a mystery. Sometimes he thought he knew her better than she knew herself and other times he felt he didn’t know her at all. But he did know there was something troubling her deeply, stopping her from feeling happy, and all he wanted to do in the world was to be the one she would trust enough to confide in. To listen to her. Try to help her. Show her that he cared.
Show her that he truly loved her.
He brought himself up with a start. Was it true? Did he love her? How could anyone be sure? He’d thought it had happened once before and he’d been duped well and good.
He sighed and gulped the rest of the revolting liquid that had by now gone cold, and strode out of the mess hall, shutting the door behind him with a determined bang.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maxine awoke from a restless night. The sounds of explosions, though far away, had broken into her dreams and woken her so many times she’d not been able to have more than a couple of hours’ sleep. They’d probably bombed the docks again.
She sighed. More destruction. When was this war ever coming to an end? Surely the German soldiers must be getting just as fed up as we are, she thought, as she dragged herself out of bed, eyes stinging with ti
redness.
Judith Wright was sitting up in bed reading when Maxine took over from Kathleen after breakfast.
‘Ah, the rash is coming out,’ Maxine said, taking Judith’s arm and inspecting it. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Could be better. The doctor said it will take two to three weeks. The incubation period is apparently longer than plain old measles.’
There was a knock on the door and, without waiting for an answer, Hilda appeared, her face covered in light red spots.
‘I’ve got German measles,’ she announced, glaring at Maxine. ‘It’s not enough for them to bomb us – they’re sending us their rotten diseases.’
‘It’s nothing to do with that at all,’ Maxine couldn’t help snapping, annoyed that Hilda had barged in. ‘You’d better get yourself undressed and into bed.’
‘Nice to see you, Hilda,’ came Judith’s voice, ‘though not under the best of circumstances.’
Maxine was surprised to see Hilda actually give what seemed a genuine smile. She couldn’t name one person who showed they liked Hilda, and yet Judith sounded absolutely sincere. A sudden thought struck her. Could Judith be the person Hilda showed the photograph to? Should she say anything to Judith out of Hilda’s hearing? She glanced over at the woman who was helping Hilda into her nightdress. Maybe it was best left alone. Peter had his photograph of his father and that was all that mattered.
It was just her luck. Two difficult patients. But at least it would take her mind off Edwin. Crofton was another matter entirely.
By evening, when Maxine was desperate to sit in the common room for a half an hour with a cup of tea, she still hadn’t decided what to do for the best. Maybe this infatuation was all on Pearl’s side. Maybe Edwin was simply being flirtatious and had no intention of pursuing Pearl. And then she remembered Edwin’s threat and knew it was exactly what was in his mind.
