‘And don’t forget Cassandra is coming this weekend,’ Georgie put in. ‘She’s got seventy-two hours’ leave.’
Jenny glanced at Charlotte and saw the delight fall from her face at the mention of someone called Cassandra. ‘Ah yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d almost forgotten.’
‘Who’s Cassandra?’ Jenny asked, innocent of the bombshell that was about to fall.
‘Cassandra is my girlfriend, Jen. She’s in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. She was stationed where I was after I got back. She’s lovely. You’ll like her, I know you will.’
Jenny stared at him, wondering how he could be so stupid. How could she ever even begin to like any girlfriend of Georgie’s when she was so desperately in love with him herself?
Fifty-Three
Cassandra was certainly lovely to look at, but there was no way Jenny would ever take to her in a million years. And to Jenny’s surprise, Charlotte didn’t seem to like the girl either. Though she was polite and charming to her as she was to everyone, there was not the warmth in her tone or in her actions with which she’d welcomed Jenny or greeted Felix, who arrived on the same train as the smartly dressed Waaf. But Miles fussed around Cassandra, making sure she had everything she needed. In the kitchen, Jenny heard Mrs Beddows give a wry snort. ‘Men! They fall over themselves for a pretty face. “Handsome is as handsome does”, that’s what I say.’
‘She’s very beautiful,’ Jenny said, setting the dirty plates she brought from the dining room on the kitchen table. Whilst there were extra guests and Kitty was on ARP duty, Jenny had offered to help Joan.
‘I’m frit of serving posh guests, miss,’ the young girl told her fearfully.
‘You needn’t worry about Mr Kerr. He’s an old darling.’ Already Jenny was charmed by the flamboyant artist. He seemed to know all about her and her ambition to be an artist. Charlotte had obviously told him. ‘And as for Cassandra – ’ Jenny sniffed dismissively – ‘you certainly needn’t bother about her.’
Some of the anxiety left Joan’s face as she giggled. ‘You sound as if you don’t like her much, miss.’
Georgie’s mine, Jenny wanted to shout, but she bit her tongue and smiled weakly. ‘Maybe she’ll improve on further acquaintance,’ she said, rather grandly, and stuck her nose in the air. Then she dropped the charade and chuckled along with Joan. ‘But I doubt it.’
‘Last time she came,’ Joan began, confiding in the girl who was about the same age as she was, ‘I had to act as her lady’s maid.’
Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘She’s been here before? I thought this was her first visit.’
‘Oh no. This is her third – at least, I think it is. Isn’t it, Mrs Beddows?’
‘Isn’t it – what?’ Mrs Beddows was putting the finishing touches to a trifle, her tongue caught between her teeth as she set the cherries on top of the whipped cream. Jenny watched her. ‘D’you know, I haven’t tasted cream since I left here.’
Mrs Beddows smiled as she glanced up and winked at her. ‘That’s the advantage of living in the country, lass. The master’s been able to see that none of us go short and he keeps on the right side of the law, though quite how he does it, I don’t know.’
‘He makes sure we all get a fair share and not just in this house neither,’ Joan said knowingly.
‘And how d’you know a thing like that, missy?’
‘’Cos me dad ses, that’s how. Me dad ses there’s not a finer feller in this country than Mr Thornton, even though he’s a stranger.’
‘A stranger? Mr Thornton?’ Jenny was appalled. ‘How can you say that? He’s lived here years.’
Mrs Beddows was bending double with laughter. ‘You’re never a local in the countryside, lovey, unless you’ve been born here.’ She straightened up. ‘Mind you, Mr Thornton’s better thought of than most townies. I came with him when he moved here and I reckon I’m only just beginning to be accepted by the locals, but I’m still “’er what come here with the squire”.’
Memories came flooding back. Name calling in the playground at school when she’d been here before had included the derisory ‘townie’ amongst other names. Jenny shuddered and tried not to think about that time. And yet it had turned into a happy experience, but that had all been down to Miles and Charlotte and, of course, Georgie.
‘There – all done.’ Mrs Beddows stood back to admire her own handiwork. ‘Now just you be careful carrying it upstairs. Which of you is going to take it up to the dining room?’
‘She is.’ The two girls pointed at each other and spoke at the same moment. There was a pause before Jenny sighed and said, ‘Oh, all right, then. I suppose I’ll have to.’
‘You won’t get the sack if you drop it,’ Joan said. ‘I might.’
‘I don’t think so, but you shake so much when you go in there, you most likely would drop it.’ Jenny picked up the trifle and cast a wicked glance at Joan. ‘If I do trip up with it, I’ll just have to mind I’m chucking it in the direction of Lady Muck.’
‘Now, now,’ Mrs Beddows chastised gently, but Jenny could see the older woman was having difficulty in keeping a straight face.
‘So – how many times has she been here before, then?’
‘A couple of times.’
‘And?’
‘And – what?’
‘How serious is it?’
‘With Georgie, you mean?’ Mrs Beddows shrugged. ‘He seems very – ’ she paused, not quite knowing what word to use in front of the young girls. In her own mind she’d have said he was ‘besotted’ but the word didn’t sound quite seemly to use about Georgie. It made him sound weak and the brave young pilot was no such thing. She sighed inwardly. And yet didn’t love make you weak? She supposed he must love the girl, but the cook couldn’t see why. Miss Hoity-Toity was her name for Cassandra. She glanced at Jenny, still standing holding the trifle. ‘Now, don’t you drop that, Jen, else you’ll have me to deal with – not the mistress.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Jenny said doggedly. The glass bowl in her hands was beginning to feel cold and slippery so she set it down on the table again. ‘Please, Mrs Beddows, tell me.’
The cook stared at her as she heard the urgency in Jenny’s tone – the yearning. My goodness, Mrs Beddows realized with a pang. The poor child fancies herself in love with Master Georgie. Oh dear, oh dear. She’s in for some heartache, there’s nothing so sure. She pulled in a deep breath. There was no point in lying to her, no point at all, but she couldn’t bring herself to say more than, ‘I think he’s very fond of her.’
Jenny stared at her for a moment then picked up the trifle and carried it carefully up the stairs and into the dining room to place it in front of Charlotte to serve. Fond. Mrs Beddows had said ‘fond’. That was nothing much to worry about, but as she took her place at the table once more, next to Felix Kerr, she saw Georgie’s eyes on Cassandra’s lovely face and to Jenny’s jealous eyes his feelings for the young woman were a whole lot more than ‘fond’.
‘Now tell me, young lady,’ Felix said, putting his arm around Jenny’s shoulders as they all finished eating and rose to go into the drawing room. ‘Have you kept up your painting?’
Jenny bit her lip. ‘I’ve tried.’ She hoped Miles and Charlotte wouldn’t tell Mr Kerr what she had been doing while she’d been away. ‘But it was sometimes difficult to get paper and paints. I did quite a lot, but I had to leave them all behind when we went back to London.’
Overhearing their conversation, Charlotte said, ‘Your table’s still waiting for you in the studio upstairs. We’ve never moved it. You can go up there any time you want to. Help yourself to whatever you want, darling.’
‘Studio?’ Cassandra’s eyebrows, plucked into a neat curve, rose a little. ‘You have a studio, Mrs Thornton? Are you an artist, then? I hadn’t realized.’
Jenny felt a stab of pleasure. Despite her air of superiority, Cassandra had not been invited to call Charlotte by her Christian name and yet, from the moment she’d a
rrived here as a scruffy little urchin, Jenny had been made to feel part of the family at once. No such courtesy had been extended to Georgie’s girlfriend, it seemed. She risked a glance at Georgie’s face. Was he upset by the fact? It didn’t seem so. He was ushering Cassandra across the hall and into drawing the room, his arm protectively around her waist. As Cassandra sat down and crossed her shapely legs, she asked, ‘What do you paint?’ She made it sound as if Charlotte was a mere amateur.
Before Charlotte could even open her mouth to reply, Jenny saw Felix’s eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘Obviously you don’t know very much about the art world, Miss Willoughby, or you would have heard of Charlotte Thornton. Her work sells exceedingly well in the best gallery in London.’
Since Jenny knew that the outlet for Charlotte’s paintings was Felix’s own gallery, she understood the twinkling in his eyes.
‘And Felix is a very well-known artist, Cassandra,’ Charlotte said gently, no doubt feeling guilty at Felix teasing their guest. ‘You must have heard of Felix Kerr.’ But Cassandra’s next words must have wiped away any feeling of embarrassment. The young woman wrinkled her forehead as she drawled, ‘No, I can’t say I have, but of course Daddy’s in banking. He doesn’t move in the arty circles.’ She said the last two words with a scathing tone, as if such a thought was anathema to her and her family.
‘He must be finding it difficult just now,’ Felix said easily. ‘As we all are. The art world has virtually shut down.’
‘They’ve taken a lot of the valuable paintings out of the city, haven’t they?’ Miles said, handing out the cups for Charlotte whilst she poured.
Felix nodded. ‘Away from the bombing.’
‘We have a portrait gallery at Willoughby Hall,’ Cassandra said, accepting a cup of coffee. ‘But Daddy has had all the paintings wrapped up and put down in the cellars until the war’s over.’
‘Very wise,’ Miles murmured. He smiled across the room at Jenny. ‘You must take up your painting again in earnest, Jenny. You showed real promise.’
‘I still have your picture of the beach in my bedroom,’ Georgie said, grinning.
But it was Cassandra’s face that was the ‘picture’ on hearing his words.
‘You’ll be going to school here, I take it,’ Felix said, still addressing Jenny. A moment’s fear crossed her face as she remembered her last so-called welcome to the village school. ‘Well, I’ve left. I’ve been working. I would have liked to have stayed on because I – I missed so much when – when we were moving about. But I don’t suppose I could go back now.’
‘Then we’ll engage a tutor to help you catch up,’ Miles said. ‘Maybe we could get you into the grammar school in Lynthorpe. Perhaps you’d have a better chance of getting into art college from there.’
Jenny almost dropped her cup and saucer as she stammered, ‘Art college?’ Suddenly, her face was alight with hope and joy. Art college! She’d only ever dared to dream such a thing and now here was Miles talking as if it could really be possible. Even when Jim had suggested it, she’d known, deep down, that it would never happen. Not while her mother was around. But if Miles and Charlotte were suggesting it, then that was entirely different. If she could go back to school, catch up with all the lessons she’d missed as Miles was promising, then maybe – just maybe – she could make something of the scruffy little urchin, the city street kid.
And maybe then Georgie would forget all about his toffee-nosed girlfriend. But first she had a lot of growing up to do. She knew he was watching her, she could feel his gaze upon her, but at this moment her brilliant blue eyes, wide and shining, were fastened on Miles’s face. ‘Do – do you really think I could?’
‘Why not?’ Miles said, spreading his hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jenny turned her gaze to Charlotte. ‘Am I good enough?’
‘You showed a lot of promise for your age when you were with us, Jenny,’ Charlotte said seriously. ‘But we’d need to see how you’ve progressed.’
Jenny’s face fell. ‘I haven’t had anyone to advise me. Mum—’ She stopped, unwilling to say anything else derogatory about her mother. Enough had been said already.
‘Don’t worry,’ Charlotte promised. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘And so will I,’ Felix promised generously, flinging his arms wide with one of his flamboyant gestures. ‘And I shall be the first gallery in London to hang a Jenny Mercer painting.’
Everyone laughed, including Jenny. Only Cassandra stared stony-faced at them as if they had all gone completely mad.
Fifty-Four
The war news was encouraging. Georgie read the daily papers avidly. Allied forces were advancing across Germany and towards the end of March, he told the rest of the family, ‘The Allies have crossed the Rhine and taken Cologne.’
Jenny was the happiest she’d ever been in her whole life, happier even than when she’d been at Ravensfleet before. The only shadow on her complete happiness was the presence of Georgie’s girlfriend. But Cassandra had gone after her three days’ leave and, for a while, Jenny could imagine that the girl didn’t exist. Once again, Georgie became hers. At least, he would have done had it not been for Louisa, whom everyone called Lou-Lou. But Jenny felt no animosity, no jealousy towards her. In fact, she became as besotted with the merry child as everyone else in the family and played happily in the nursery with her for hours on end.
‘My little sister,’ she murmured in Lou-Lou’s ear when the little girl held up her arms to be cuddled. ‘My darling little sister.’
Georgie spent many hours with both girls. He read to them, entertained them and they went out walking together, though now with his wounded leg, he couldn’t walk as far as the beach. ‘And before anyone suggests it,’ he said firmly. ‘I am not taking to a wheelchair or even taking to using a stick.’
‘I could drive you down the lane to the sandhills,’ Miles said. ‘You could make it from there, couldn’t you?’
‘Oh do try, Georgie. I want to go picking samphire again.’
‘It won’t be ready yet.’
‘I know. But we don’t have to wait for that,’ Jenny insisted. ‘I’ve not seen the sea since I came back and I want you to be there when I do. Please, Georgie.’
So one warm April morning they all set off on a trip to the beach with a picnic hamper packed by Mrs Beddows.
‘I’ve not been on a picnic since I was here before,’ Jenny said, completely forgetting in her excitement that she was supposed to be acting like a grown-up.
‘Then this will be the best picnic ever,’ Miles said, loading the hamper, rugs and folding chairs into the car boot. They arrived at the spot where the lane gave way to sand. Jenny scrambled out and ran ahead, up the slope of the dunes where she stood breathing in the sea air. The tide was coming in, but there was still a stretch of smooth, untouched sand though the barbed wire was still there. She turned to see Miles carrying the basket towards a sheltered hollow in the sand-hills. Jenny ran back to the car. ‘Let me help. What shall I carry?’
‘You take the rugs and I’ll manage a couple of the chairs,’ Georgie said. ‘Charlotte’s got her hands full with Lou-Lou.’
Soon everything had been transported to their picnic spot.
‘Let’s build a sandcastle just far enough up the beach so that the tide comes in and swirls round the moat,’ Georgie said, dropping any pretence of being an adult himself now.
Charlotte shaded her eyes and looked out to where the sea lapped the sand. ‘Can we get right to the water’s edge through the barbed wire?’
‘We can now. Someone’s cut a hole over there. Look.’
‘Now, I wonder who could have done that?’ Miles murmured.
Charlotte laughed. ‘Alfie. He hates the barbed wire. I hope he doesn’t get into trouble.’
‘I haven’t seen Alfie yet. Is he still working at Buckthorn Farm?’
‘Yes, but he’s stayed on at school. He got a transfer to the Grammar School and he wants to go to agricultural college, like B
en did, but he still works on the farm at weekends if you want to see him.’
Jenny nodded. ‘I’ll take Lou-Lou in the pushchair and walk over to see him tomorrow if it’s fine.’
‘Father, did you bring the buckets and spades?’
‘Of course. With three children,’ he chuckled, counting Georgie as one of them, ‘I’m hardly likely to forget.’
‘Four,’ Charlotte corrected him and promptly sat down on the rug to peel off her shoes and stockings. Picking up her small daughter, she began to pick her way across the mud and the shingle, beyond where the samphire grew to the beach. ‘Come along, children,’ she called gaily. ‘Let’s get building this castle.’
The next half-hour was happily spent whilst Georgie, Charlotte and Jenny constructed a sandcastle with a moat. Even Louisa dug with her little spade.
‘Now a bridge with a tunnel underneath it,’ Georgie said, lowering himself on to the sand, his wounded leg sticking out awkwardly as he made the bridge.
‘Shells,’ Charlotte said. ‘We need shells for windows and doors.’
Louisa, watched over by Miles, picked up handfuls of sand and threw them in the air, squealing with delight. Now she picked up a shell and held it out to her mother.
‘Clever girl,’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Press it into the side of the castle, like this.’
It was such a truly happy day for them all, but especially for Jenny, who could begin to put the dark days of life with her mother and the string of ‘uncles’ well and truly behind her.
The castle completed, they watched the tide creep nearer and near. At last a wave reached it and swirled around the moat.
‘Now it’s a real castle,’ Georgie said. But it wasn’t long before the tide encroached even more and began to wash away the walls and the towers. Louisa’s face crumpled and she began to cry as the waves demolished the last sign of their castle.
‘Don’t cry, Lou-Lou,’ Jenny promised, gently wiping away the child’s tears. ‘We can soon build another one. Let’s go and have our picnic now.’
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