The Married Girls

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘I’ve been in a bedsit in Pimlico for the last few weeks; since I left the WAAFs.’

  ‘You left the WAAFs?’ Neither of the Bellingers had known that; things were moving faster than they thought.

  ‘Oh yes! Felix didn’t want me working once we was... were... engaged. I was given an immediate discharge to get married.’

  Marjorie had the sense not to ask who was paying for the bedsit in Pimlico. ‘Everything seems to be arranged perfectly,’ was all she said.

  ‘I told you it was, Mother,’ Felix said a little impatiently. ‘We’ve no reason to wait and every reason to get on with things.’

  ‘Every reason...?’ Marjorie heard the dismay in her own voice. Was he now going to break the news that a baby was already on the way?

  But Felix, sublimely unaware of her fears, said, ‘Now things are beginning to pick up after the war, why should we wait?’

  As she sat in church, listening to the vicar droning on, Daphne allowed herself a secret smile. Marjorie thinks I’m pregnant and that’s why we’re getting married quickly. Well, she couldn’t be more wrong!

  Marjorie wasn’t concentrating on the service either. In her head she was replaying the conversation she and Peter had had the previous evening in the privacy of their room. As soon as she’d closed the door, she’d said, ‘Well, so that’s Daphne.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ Peter agreed. ‘Not really who we’d have chosen for a daughter-in-law, but she may improve on acquaintance.’

  ‘On acquaintance,’ echoed his wife scornfully. ‘She’s not going to be an acquaintance. She’s going to be Felix’s wife. Don’t you care that he’s really going to marry her?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he replied, ‘but I don’t think there’s much we can do about it.’

  ‘Couldn’t you speak to him?’

  ‘And say what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Marjorie wretchedly, ‘something to make him think again.’

  ‘I think that would probably do more harm than good. Almost anything we say against the idea is likely to make him more determined.’

  ‘But she’s not a suitable wife for him. She’s not our sort. She’s a working-class girl and I don’t think she’s even in love with him. I think she’s using him as a meal ticket for life.’

  ‘Now, darling, you don’t know that. And he’s in love with her, or at least he thinks he is, which comes to the same thing, and why not? You can’t really refer to her as a girl, she’s all woman, and a beautiful one at that, with her big blue eyes and her long blonde hair.’ Peter spoke matter-of-factly, but Marjorie looked at him sharply.

  ‘Well, she certainly seemed to win you over at dinner, with her smiles and her wide eyes, and her, “Oh, Major Bellinger, reely?”’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ replied Peter soothingly. ‘I’m a better judge of character than that, but you have to admit she is an attractive woman.’

  ‘But surely Felix can see past a pretty face?’

  ‘Not at the moment, he can’t.’

  ‘And when he can it will be too late,’ Marjorie said bitterly. ‘At the moment she’s all sweetness and light, but there’s a hardness under all that charm; she’s a calculating...’ Marjorie bit back the word ‘bitch’, it was not in her vocabulary, saying only, ‘a calculating little madam. I hope she knows Felix has only his pay to live on. I bet she thinks we’re rich and that Felix will inherit the lot.’

  ‘Well,’ Peter smiled in an effort to calm his wife’s fears, ‘he will inherit the lot, but it won’t be much of an inheritance, just our problems and our debts.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know that. Couldn’t you just let something slip, you know, in conversation, about our financial problems?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t,’ Peter answered firmly.

  ‘But it might make her change her mind. You know, go after someone richer. Can’t you see what she’s after?’

  ‘Of course I can, I’m not a fool, but any sign of antagonism on our part will only cement Felix into his decision. She’s his choice of wife. If we seem to criticise her, he’s bound to defend her and the situation’ll be even worse.’

  How could it be worse? Marjorie wondered now as she looked along the pew at her prospective daughter-in-law. There she sat in a smart blue frock with a perky little hat perched on the side of her head. Where’d she got those, and who’d paid for them? Her face at rest was beautiful, her complexion flawless, enhanced by a touch of make-up to emphasise the brilliance of her eyes and the delicate shape of her mouth, but beneath the apparent perfection, Marjorie could see steely resolve. There was nothing she could put her finger on and say, ‘There! Look at her. Can’t you see...?’ But, instinctively, she knew it was there and she wished Felix could see it, too.

  When it came to the christening of little Edith Martha Shepherd, everyone turned to face the font at the back of the church and the vicar called the parents and godparents forward. Felix watched the ceremony with interest. He saw the look of love on the faces of the parents, as they presented their baby and named her Edith Martha.

  Would he soon be a father? he wondered. It was the first time he had actually considered the question. He glanced at Daphne standing beside him and wondered if she was thinking the same; that they might soon be starting a family, and the idea gave him a jolt of happiness.

  Daphne was looking at Charlotte and thinking, she hasn’t got her figure back. If I ever get pregnant again, I’m not going to let that happen to me.

  All round the church the people of Wynsdown were admiring Mr Felix’s fiancée. They made a handsome couple, standing side by side in the manor pew.

  ‘She’s a bit of all right, an’ no mistake,’ Bert Gurney said to Frank Tewson as they gathered in the sunshine on the village green after the service. ‘D’you see the arse on ’er? Wouldn’t mind a bit of that meself!’

  ‘Dirty ole bugger,’ Frank said with a grin. ‘She’s young enough to be your daughter!’

  ‘Nah, she ain’t,’ protested Bert, whose children were indeed in their twenties.

  ‘An’ I can’t see your Mavis liking the idea.’

  Nor could Bert. ‘No, well, no harm in lookin’. I was only sayin’...’

  ‘Only saying what, Bert Gurney?’ His wife had come up behind him unnoticed.

  ‘Nothing, love,’ Bert said hastily. ‘Just that Mr Felix has caught himself a pretty bird, that’s all.’

  Mavis Gurney eyed her husband darkly. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I thought that would be it.’

  It was, indeed, the consensus of the village – Mr Felix had done all right for himself, and Daphne, despite her reluctance to appear at church, found herself basking in the warmth of their attention, her hand tucked into Felix’s arm, smiling shyly as she was introduced to the vicar’s wife and the doctor’s fiancée, who’d stood godmother to the baby.

  Felix stood beside her, beaming with pride as various people shook his hand and offered their congratulations, and Marjorie had to concede there was no point in trying to dissuade him from what she was sure would be a disastrous marriage.

  The christening party set off up the road to Blackdown House, and gradually the villagers dispersed to their own Sunday lunches. With the christening of Billy Shepherd’s baby, with visitors travelling all the way from London to be there, and the arrival of Felix Bellinger and his fiancée, it had been an exciting weekend, and food for village gossip and speculation for the foreseeable future.

  When they got back to Blackdown House, Billy started pouring drinks for his visitors; beer for the men, and some white wine that Dr Masters had provided, for the ladies. Clare went into the kitchen with Charlotte to help carry out the food and lay it out on the dining-room table. As they took the dishes of cold meat and salad out of the pantry she said, ‘What did you think of the famous Felix then? Don’t know what that Nancy Bright was thinking about. He didn’t look much like Clarke Gable to me.’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘but he is quite good-looking, don
’t you think? Dark and handsome?’

  ‘Not my type,’ said Clare, thinking of her husband Malcolm with his red hair and freckles.

  ‘No, nor mine,’ Charlotte said as she glanced through the open door to where Billy stood in the hallway. ‘But even so, he’s a very attractive man.’

  ‘What about that Daphne? All dolled up for her appearance in church?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Clare,’ cried Charlotte. ‘That’s a bit hard. I bet you’d have dressed up if you were going to church with your future in-laws.’

  ‘Well, maybe,’ conceded Clare, ‘’cept me and Malc ain’t got no in-laws.’ She laid a hand on her extended stomach and sighed. ‘Baby would have liked a nan and grandad. You’re lucky to have Billy’s parents.’

  ‘I know,’ Charlotte said.

  At that moment Billy stuck his head round the door. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Are we going to get any food?’

  ‘Don’t be impatient,’ Charlotte scolded, and handing him a dish of ham said, ‘Here, make yourself useful and put this on the table.’

  It was a cheerful party, everyone enjoying the food Charlotte had prepared. Margaret had made a christening cake, and Dan, a little nervously at first, proposed a toast to Edie, wishing her a long, happy and healthy life. Charlotte unwrapped the presents that the godparents had brought: a silver teaspoon engraved with Edie’s initials from Caroline, a china mug and porringer from Clare and a little silver bracelet from Dan. David and Avril had bought her a prayer book, ‘For when she’s a bit older,’ David said with a smile as he handed it to Charlotte.

  The afternoon flew by and all too soon it was time for the Federmans to leave to catch their train. Charlotte hugged them all, as they got into John’s car to go to the station.

  ‘Thank you for coming so far for such a short time,’ she said, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I can’t tell you what it means to me.’

  ‘Thank you for asking us, Lisa, me duck,’ said Dan as he returned her hug. ‘I’m right proud to be young Edie’s godfather.’ Adding, ‘Didn’t think it would be allowed, me not being a Christian an’ that.’

  David overheard him. ‘You and Naomi did a truly Christian thing, giving Lisa a loving home when she needed one,’ he said. ‘That was good enough for me.’

  ‘Oh Billy,’ cried Charlotte when they’d gone. ‘I’m so glad they came. I just wish they’d been able to stay a little bit longer.’

  *

  Charlotte’s feelings couldn’t have been more different from those who sat round the table for Sunday lunch at the manor. Lunch there was another awkward meal; Daphne couldn’t wait to leave and Marjorie couldn’t wait for her to go. It was a relief to both women when Fred Jones arrived to drive them to the station.

  As Felix gave his mother a hug and kissed her on her cheek, he murmured, ‘You do like her, don’t you, Ma?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know her very well yet,’ she replied, ‘but she seems charming.’

  Felix beamed at her. ‘I knew you would. We’ll see you at the wedding. Not long now!’

  ‘Well,’ he said as he and Daphne settled into a first-class compartment, ‘I thought that went very well, didn’t you?’

  ‘Your father’s an old dear,’ Daphne said, ‘but your mother isn’t sure about me, I could tell. Do you know, I think she thought we were getting married quickly because I was expecting.’

  Felix gave a shout of laughter. ‘Oh, Daph, she thought no such thing! She knows you’re not that sort of girl.’

  ‘And she didn’t like not knowing about my family.’

  ‘She was just interested, that’s all,’ Felix said. ‘Anyway, I’m the one that’s marrying you, not her, so if it doesn’t matter to me that your father runs a garage, then it doesn’t matter to anyone else.’

  At least, Daphne thought as she sat back in her seat and closed her eyes, the nightmare weekend is over and Felix seems happy with how it went, which is the main thing.

  She knew Marjorie Bellinger hadn’t liked her, but that, Daphne decided, was not her problem. She and Felix would be living in London, and her new in-laws would be safely in the country, out of the way.

  *

  The day Felix and Daphne tied the knot dawned white with autumnal mist. There was a chill in the air, but as the sun rose higher the mist burned off and it changed into a warm October morning.

  Daphne had invited one of her ex-WAAF colleagues, Joan Archer, to be her witness, and Felix had Toby Squires as his best man. The only other guests were Marjorie and Peter Bellinger. They had arrived in London the night before and stayed at a small hotel in Victoria. They all met in Chelsea just before noon, a rather ill-assorted group, gathered outside the town hall, waiting for Daphne to arrive.

  Toby was one of the few survivors of Felix’s fighter squadron. Together they had come through the Battle of Britain and continued to fly in defence of the skies over London throughout the war. This survival had cemented their early camaraderie into a strong friendship and though Toby was no longer in the RAF, he and Felix remained close.

  Joan Archer had been another aircraft maintenance mechanic, working alongside Daphne during the latter part of the war. Though they were not particularly close friends, and Joan had left the air force, she and Daphne had kept in touch, and Daphne couldn’t think of anyone else to ask.

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ Felix felt exasperated, ‘tell your parents we’re getting married. Surely they’ll want to be there with you on your big day, won’t they?’

  ‘No, Felix,’ Daphne snapped. ‘I’m not going to tell them, so stop asking.’

  Felix sighed. He didn’t understand, but he did stop asking.

  Daphne and Joan arrived in a cab just as the clock began to strike twelve. She was wearing a slim, buttercup-yellow dress that hugged her figure and a matching hat with a tiny veil that covered her eyes. For a moment she looked at Felix, standing waiting for her, handsome in his uniform, and there was a gleam of triumph in her eyes. When they got out of the taxi, Joan handed Daphne her bouquet of yellow and white roses. She looked stunning, standing there, holding her flowers, her golden hair gleaming in the sunshine, and Felix’s heart missed a beat. Then he stepped forward and took her hand and they all went up the steps into the town hall.

  The ceremony was short, over so quickly it seemed it had hardly begun before Felix was kissing his bride and the registrar was congratulating Wing Commander and Mrs Felix Bellinger on their marriage and wishing them a long and happy one.

  Outside on the steps, Daphne accepted kisses of congratulation from Toby and from Felix’s parents. Joan had brought a camera and took pictures of them all, before they flagged down two taxis to take them to the Savoy.

  The wedding breakfast, as Marjorie insisted on calling it, was not an easy affair. Toasts were made, health was drunk, but despite the best efforts of the best man and the bride and groom, it didn’t seem very celebratory. As soon as it was over, it was with relief that Felix’s parents left to go to their hotel to collect their luggage and catch their train.

  ‘I hope you’ll be very happy, my boy,’ Peter said as he clapped Felix on the shoulder. ‘Don’t leave it too long before you come down and see us again. I need to chat over some things with you, and your mother so looks forward to your visits.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll be down to see you again soon,’ Felix promised.

  Marjorie gave him a farewell hug. ‘Be happy, Felix,’ she said. ‘That’s all we want for you.’

  Felix returned her hug. ‘Don’t worry, Mother, I couldn’t be happier than I am today.’

  5

  On the day Felix and Daphne got married, Vic Merritt disembarked at Southampton and caught the train to London. It was four years since he’d taken ship for Australia with gangland boss, Denny Duncan; both of them travelling on forged papers and both of them wanted by the police. As Vic watched the countryside flash by he considered his options now that he was back. Hiding in plain sight seemed to be the safest. His papers confirmed h
is new identity and there was nothing to connect him with Heinrich Schwarz, the Jewish refugee who’d fled from the Nazis on a Kindertransport train in 1939, nor Harry Black, the name he’d assumed on his arrival, by which he was known to the English police.

  He had plenty of cash with him now, Denny had seen to that. He was well dressed with no hint he’d ever been anything else, so, he decided, he’d find a good hotel, but nothing flash. Once, long ago, he’d vowed he’d march into the Ritz and the commissionaire would touch his hat in salute, rather than chase him away as he’d done before. That day was still to come; today was not the time.

  Denny had sent him back to London with a particular commission. He couldn’t return himself for two reasons. Firstly, he was still wanted by the police as an escaped prisoner; but the second, more frightening reason, was that he had just been diagnosed with lung cancer. With about nine months to live, he wanted to see his wife and daughter again before he died, so he’d sent Vic to fetch them.

  ‘You won’t be running any risks going back now,’ Denny assured him. ‘You was only small fry, them rozzers’ll have forgotten all about you!’

  Vic knew he was probably right, though he rather resented being dismissed as small fry.

  ‘Possible the house is still being watched,’ Denny had gone on. ‘Unlikely after all this time. Still, you never know, so go careful, Vic. Don’t want to blow my whereabouts at this late stage.’ Vic was to arrange passports and tickets for Dora and Bella and bring them out to Sydney. However, this wasn’t his only commission; he had other business of Denny’s to attend to.

  Since his escape, Denny’s empire had been left in the hands of his second in command, Mick Derham, but although Denny still had some clout on the London scene even in his absence, two opposition firms, those of Grey Maxton and Bull Shadbolt, had begun to move in, gradually taking his business and his territory. There’d been no violent takeover, no turf war, just a gradual eroding of Denny’s manor.

  One of Denny’s old associates, Ricky Mawes, had turned up in Sydney. A small, wiry man with a face like a battered ferret, Ricky was an ex-flyweight boxer who’d made extra money on the side, bare-knuckle fighting. He’d had to leave London in a hurry when he managed to kill one of his opponents.