‘Have you finished with that tea?’ Emmeline said.
Octavia sipped at it and grimaced.
‘There you are, you see, you’ve let it go cold,’ her cousin rebuked. ‘Shall I make you a fresh pot?’
‘No thanks, Em,’ Octavia said. ‘It’s time to go. I’m seeing Poppy Turner at half past nine and it’s nearly that now. What did I do with my gloves?’
There were seven possible candidates for universities and training colleges that year and, as always, she wanted to be sure that the girls applied to the best possible places in the best possible way. She would interview them all, as she always did, one after the other, explaining and encouraging. Some, like Poppy, were unsure of their abilities and would need to be told how talented they were, others would need help with applications for grants to ensure that they had enough to live on, some were still undecided about the course they ought to follow and would need practical advice about their careers. In fact, they all required care of one kind or another. It was only Lizzie Meriton who was straightforward. Tommy would pay for her and see that she had everything she needed, she had a first-rate attitude to study and would pass all her examinations with distinctions, she was widely read, she’d been an excellent head girl, there was nothing to stop her upward path. Her interview would be the easiest of the lot and she would save it until last as a special treat when all the others had had their lives settled.
It took the entire week to see them all and to make all the necessary arrangements. It wasn’t until late on Friday afternoon that she finally got around to fixing Lizzie’s appointment and she only managed to do it then because they passed one another on the stairs.
‘Ah, Lizzie,’ she said, pausing with her hand on the banister. ‘Could I see you on Monday morning, do you think? Period three?’
A smile, an agreement, then a request. ‘I shall be going out with Ben tonight,’ Lizzie said. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ Octavia said. ‘As long as you’re back by ten-thirty.’ And she walked off towards her teaching room thinking how sensible her head girl was being and what a pleasure it would be to interview her.
It was a miserably cold evening and Lizzie was quite glad that she was going to have supper with Aunt Min and could sit by the fire for a little while afterwards. Fires were the one thing she really missed at Downview and Aunt Min always kept a good one going, as she had that evening. The warmth of it reached out to her like an embrace the minute she stepped into the house.
‘You’re like ice, child,’ Min said, when she kissed Lizzie’s cold cheek. ‘That won’t do. Come and sit by the fire and get yourself warm. It’s no weather to be out walking. I’ve only got the tea to make and we can have our supper. We’re a bit early tonight because we’re going to the club. Gala evening tonight. Mustn’t miss that.’
Lizzie looked a question at Ben.
‘It’s the highlight of the year,’ Ben told her, grinning at his aunt. ‘The one club meeting nobody misses.’
‘You could come with us if you like,’ Min offered.
‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘We’re going to the pictures, aren’t we, Lizzie?’
But when they’d eaten Min’s rissoles and he and Lizzie had washed the dishes and stacked them neatly away and the table had been cleared and folded and set against the wall and the rest of the family had bundled themselves into coats and scarves and woolly hats and gone giggling off to the gala, he didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere. He pulled the settee up to the fire, switched off the light, settled them both among the cushions and began to kiss her, luxuriously as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were a married couple on their own in their own home, as the fire flicked shadows on the wall behind them and the coals shifted and shuffled and the dog slept on the hearth rug beside them.
‘We don’t really want to go out, do we?’ he asked, when he finally paused to take breath.
It was an unnecessary question. She was so drowsed with pleasure she barely had the sense to answer it. ‘Um,’ she said, reaching up to kiss him again.
He turned as they kissed until he was lying on top of her. The shock of it was so delicious she could hardly breathe. She put her arms right round him and held him close, kissing and kissing. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, such a strong insistent beat, and his legs were heavy as if he was pinning her down, and his hands were warm and tender and coaxing, persuading her further and further. ‘Darling, darling Lizzie,’ he said. ‘I love you so much.’
After a while she realised that she was actually rather uncomfortable and struggled to sit up.
He raised himself to give her room to move and looked down at her, his face gilded by firelight. ‘What is it?’ he said.
‘You’re squashing me,’ she told him. ‘There’s a lump in this settee and it’s sticking in my back.’
‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘If we were to go upstairs, we could have a bed to lie on.’ His expression was at once hopeful and bashful and touching. ‘Only if you want to though.’
She stayed quite still for a few seconds, half-sitting half-lying, and thought about it while he waited. ‘They won’t come back, will they?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want them to come home and find us upstairs. I mean, I wouldn’t want to shock them or anything.’
‘On gala night?’ he laughed. ‘No fear. They’ll be there till midnight. So what do you think? Shall we…?’
She knew exactly what he was asking her and that she ought to say no but she couldn’t do it. She was swimming in sensation, carried along by it, impelled by the urgency of it.
‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,’ he urged. ‘I mean, if you say no, I’ll stop, no matter what.’
How could she possibly refuse an invitation like that? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’
‘Then you will?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and kissed him to prove it.
They walked up the dark stairs with their arms round each other, stopping to kiss on every step, and he led her to a small cramped bedroom with two beds in it, both with the covers tightly tucked in. She was vaguely aware of a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a bookcase full of books, but by then she was too breathless to care about any of it. He stood in the darkness of the room with one arm holding her close and switched on a little bedside lamp. It shed a circle of yellow light across the pillow of the nearest bed, pointing the way, and she took it, eager and uncertain, allowing him to take off her jersey and her blouse and her petticoat and her shoes and stockings, watching him all the time.
She felt cold and exposed and as if she was being judged and she tried to joke the feeling away. ‘Will I do? Only I’m getting cold.’
He answered her seriously, cupping her breasts in his hands. ‘You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life,’ he said. ‘Come under the covers and get warm again.’
It wasn’t until much later, when she’d got her breath back and they were lying cuddled together under the eiderdown for warmth, he half asleep and grinning like the Cheshire cat, she wide awake and thoughts drifting, that she realised that her life was now totally changed. She was married now, or as good as married. They were one flesh and they belonged together and they would make love again whenever they could. She wasn’t at all sure how they would manage it but she knew they would. And sooner or later, when she’d left school, they would marry properly in a church and belong together as man and wife, and live in their own home, all on their own together and make love whenever they wanted to and stay in bed as long as they wanted to afterwards, instead of having to get up and go back to Downview. The thought of her billet brought her to her senses with a start. She had to get back. She’d almost forgotten. What was the time? Did he have a clock in the room? She sat up, clutching the eiderdown about her, and peered at the clutter of books and boxes on the bedside table.
‘Ten o’clock,’ he said from the pillows. ‘It’s just struck. There’s no rush.’
She was lo
oking for her clothes, searching with her right hand while her left still clutched the eiderdown. ‘There is,’ she said. ‘I mustn’t be late. I’ve promised Smithie.’
‘You and your Smithie,’ he laughed. ‘All right then. Don’t worry. You won’t be late. I’ll take you back on my bike. You can ride on the crossbar. Only on one condition, mind.’
She’d found her petticoat and was pulling it over her head. ‘What’s that?’ she said from among the folds of cloth.
‘That you see me all day tomorrow and all day Sunday.’
‘And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,’ she promised.
‘Well, no,’ he said seriously. ‘Only Saturday and Sunday. I’ve got to be back in camp by midnight.’
It was a difficult weekend. Saturday was cold and spitting with rain and there wasn’t much they could do in the morning except walk on Horsell Common with nowhere to go to be warm and private. In the afternoon they went to the pictures where it was warm but not exactly private. It gave them a chance to sit in the back row and kiss one another but that was as far as they could go. By the time they emerged into the darkness of the winter night they were both aching with frustration.
‘If we were married we could have a room of our own and stay in it all day and do whatever we liked,’ Ben complained, as he cuddled her back to Downview.
It couldn’t be denied. ‘But we can’t, can we?’ Lizzie said. ‘Not till I leave school.’ And possibly not even then if her father had anything to do with it. She couldn’t imagine him giving his consent. And what if she went to Oxford, the way she was planning? They didn’t take married students at university did they? She’d never heard of such a thing. But she did so want them to be married. Oh, why was life so complicated?
‘I tell you something,’ he said, ‘it’s going to be a long time till my next leave.’
‘I’d make it come quicker if I could,’ she said.
Sunday was easier, although it took a bit of crafty persuasion. He met her at the school gate in the early afternoon glowing with the news that the folks were going to tea with their cousins and that they’d have the house to themselves for an hour or two.
‘Are they all going?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said, ‘just Aunt and Uncle and Heather. I’ve given young Robert the wherewithal to go to the flicks. I had to twist his arm a bit but he agreed in the end.’
‘That’s bribery,’ she laughed. Oh, it was good to think they were going to have time on their own!
‘That’s necessary,’ he said and kissed her. ‘Come on.’
They stayed in the warm until his family came home, bubbling with news of their cousins and then, after a decent interval when they listened to the gossip, they walked slowly back to the school house. They were languid with love and torn with the misery of being parted again and stood just out of sight of the school with their arms round each other in the darkness kissing goodbye again and again.
‘Come back soon,’ she begged. ‘It’s going to be awful not seeing you.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said, ‘but I can’t promise anything. We’re going on manoeuvres.’
‘Which means weeks, doesn’t it,’ she said dolefully. ‘I hate this war.’
‘We all hate it,’ he said, suddenly feeling far older than she was and very protective. And he tried to cheer her. ‘It could be worse. We could be sent to Africa. At least we’re not going there yet.’
That didn’t cheer her at all. ‘Don’t even say it,’ she told him, fiercely. ‘Manoeuvres are bad enough without you going to Africa.’
‘We shall have to go eventually,’ he warned. ‘That’s what we’re training for.’
It was all too much. After such a weekend her emotions were raw. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she said and burst into tears. It took him a long time and a lot of gentling before he could comfort her calm again and consequently she was more than twenty minutes late. Mary was in the bathroom and Poppy was already in bed, sitting up against the pillows with her face creamed and a comb in her hand, putting in her curlers.
‘You’re late,’ she said, mildly. And then she stopped because she’d caught the gleam of the ring on her friend’s finger. ‘Lizzie Meriton! Is that an engagement ring? Oh, do show.’
Lizzie looked at the ring and felt cross with herself. Fancy forgetting to hide it. That’s what comes of getting upset. ‘Well, yes,’ she said, holding out her hand so that Poppy could see the ring. ‘It is. But it’s a secret.’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Poppy said, touching it reverently, and Mary came shivering back into the room. ‘Look at this, Mary! What do you think? Lizzie’s engaged.’
‘That corridor’s like ice this evening,’ Mary said, getting into bed. ‘You get nice and warm in the bath and then freeze to death on the way back. So come on then, tell us. Who’s the lucky man?’
It was too late for Lizzie to be discreet so she told them – how they met, how handsome he was, how his uncle was the foreman at the wood-yard – ‘the one who was so nice to us’ – how he was in the tank corps and was going back to Salisbury Plain to start manoeuvres.
‘You are a dark horse,’ Poppy said admiringly. ‘I never even knew you were going out with anyone. Did you, Mary?’
‘Nobody knew,’ Lizzie told them. ‘I mean, nobody does, except you, so please don’t go spreading it about. Smithie told me to be discreet.’
Poppy’s eyes were a study in surprise. ‘She knows about it?’
It was rather warming to be able to say yes.
‘Heavens!’ Poppy said. ‘That woman never ceases to amaze me. Do you mean she actually knows and she didn’t tell you not to or anything?’
‘She said I was to be discreet, that’s all. Oh, and that Juliet wasn’t fourteen when she met Romeo.’
Poppy was still coping with surprise. ‘Good Lord!’ she said.
Mary was more practical. ‘So when are you going to get married?’ she said, getting into bed.
‘When I leave school I expect.’
‘I thought you were going to Oxford.’
‘I might not be able to. Not if I get married. I mean, I don’t think they take married students.’
‘Oh Lizzie,’ Poppy said, ‘you can’t not go to Oxford. I mean, it’s the best university in the world. You can’t not. You simply can’t.’
‘What did Smithie say about it?’ Mary asked.
‘She doesn’t know,’ Lizzie confessed. ‘I haven’t seen her yet. My appointment’s not till tomorrow.’
‘Well, rather you than me,’ Mary said, ominously. ‘If you turn down a place at St Hilda’s, she’ll be furious. You mark my words.’
‘No she won’t,’ Poppy said, defending her heroine. ‘She’s not like that.’
Mary pulled the covers up under her chin. ‘This is Oxford we’re talking about,’ she said. ‘She will. You mark my words.’
Her words kept Lizzie awake for most of the night. What on earth was she going to say? She would have to tell her. It wasn’t something she could keep to herself. Anyway, Smithie would know – she always did, God knows how, she always knew everything – and once it was out in the open, she was bound to be cross, because getting a Roehampton girl to Oxford was a matter of prestige. Crème de la crème and all that sort of thing. It was all hideously difficult and it got worse as the hours toiled past.
Octavia had had a trying weekend too. For a start it had been a weekend for visitors and Tommy wasn’t one of them, which was rather a disappointment. He’d rung to say that Molotov was flying to London and that there was to be a reception in his honour on Saturday night. All the top brass in the Foreign Office had been told that their attendance was required, ‘although what good that will do I can’t possibly imagine. He’s only coming here to bully us into opening the Second Front. It’s all he ever talks about.’
‘I shall miss you,’ she said.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he told her and she could hear him grinning. ‘Let me know how you get on with my Lizzie.’
<
br /> So it was just family members who arrived that Saturday, first Dora, bearing a home-made meat pie, with David beside her, looking very tall and grown up, and then, to Emmeline’s surprise, Johnnie, sagging with fatigue and in one of his disgruntled moods. The sight of him sent Emmeline into alarm at once.
‘My dear boy,’ she said. ‘What is the matter? You look all in.’
‘Nothing,’ Johnnie said. ‘Don’t fuss.’ He’d just been turned down flat by a rather pretty girl but he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’
‘Come and have a slice of my nice meat pie,’ Dora said to him. ‘That’ll cheer you up.’
But of course it won’t, Octavia thought, watching him as he sighed to the table, because whatever it is, it’s well beyond the comfort of a pie. And food won’t comfort Edith much today either because she’s missing Arthur and wishing he were here with us. There’s sadness all over her face. I wish we could get this dammed war over and done with. We’re into the third year of it now and it’s beginning to drag us all down. Em’s getting thinner by the day, Edie’s lonely, Johnnie’s hiding his misery, I haven’t given Tommy his answer. And as she took her first forkful of the pie, she was glad to think that on Monday morning she would have her nice easy interview with Lizzie.
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