With a Kiss and a Prayer (The Cliffehaven Series)

by Ellie Dean

  He gently put her aside and calmly organised his men to cover the bodies of the soldiers and aim their jets into the heart of the raging fire. ‘I’m not sending anyone into that,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Peggy, but it’s highly unlikely there’s anyone still alive in either house.’

  Peggy felt numb as she tried to comprehend what he’d said. Doris couldn’t be dead. It was impossible to even think of such a thing. She was larger than life, bossy and overbearing and definitely not the sort of person to be hit by a bomb.

  ‘Move back, Mrs Reilly. Come along. Let the firemen do their work.’

  Peggy stared at the man in the tin hat and Civil Defence uniform and stood firm. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  She ignored him and stared dumbly as the roof at the back of Doris’s house collapsed and brought down the side wall, which flattened the garage. The flames were gathering energy and greedily feeding on this new bounty, probably drawn by the fumes of the petrol Doris had hidden in there.

  ‘She’s got petrol in that garage, and there’s a car too,’ she yelled, tugging urgently at John Hicks’s jacket.

  He swore under his breath, ordered the Civil Defence to get everyone well away, and his men to aim their hoses at the garage. He swore again as Andy raced towards the garage and began to heave away the fallen masonry to get to the petrol cans inside.

  Before John could stop them, Ron, Frank, Robert and Peter were by Andy’s side, tugging, heaving, chucking things to one side in their desperate bid to prevent another explosion.

  Peggy saw the new blossom of flames at the same time as John. ‘Get out of there!’ he yelled. ‘The whole lot’s going to blow any minute.’

  The jets of water soaked them as they reluctantly retreated. John ordered the fire engines and other vehicles to be quickly backed up the road, and then turned to Peggy and the others and yelled at them to run as far and as fast as they could.

  Peggy dithered, but Ron grabbed one arm, Frank the other, and she was lifted off her feet and carried right out of Havelock Road and down to the promenade, where they pressed her down to the ground behind the tea kiosk and shielded her with their bodies.

  Half crazed with fear, she fought them. ‘Where’s Daisy? Where’s my Daisy?’ she screamed.

  They had no chance to reply, for the explosions came one after the other in a great booming salvo that shot flames, masonry and burning petrol cans high into the air.

  Peggy stopped struggling and burst into tears. No one could have survived that. Her sister was gone. But where was Daisy? Was she safe?

  She felt herself being lifted and held in strong arms, and in her sorrow, fear and bewilderment, thought for a minute that Jim had come home. But it was Frank. Dear, dependable, kind Frank. Closing her eyes she leant against him, thankful he was there, but longing for it to be Jim.

  The tears flowed and she buried her face in his shoulder as he carried her away from the shouts of the firemen, the thick, choking smoke and the demonic crackle of those flames that were devouring her sister’s beloved house. She couldn’t bear to think of how it must have been inside when that V-1 hit, and could only pray that death was instantaneous, and they’d known nothing of it.

  ‘Mama. Don’t cry, Mama.’

  Peggy opened her eyes and as Frank gently put her on her feet, she fell to her knees and clasped Daisy to her, kissing her little face and thanking God she’d come to no harm. ‘Is everyone else all right?’ she asked Pauline once she felt calmer.

  Pauline nodded. ‘Kitty and Charlotte have gone home and Peter has taken Rita off on his motorbike because John Hicks ordered her in no uncertain terms to leave. Robert and Fran have cleared up what they can of the picnic, and Sarah has gone back with them to Beach View to try and calm Cordelia down. She was in a bit of a state, and soaked through from being in that ditch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she goes down with a nasty cold after this. Ivy’s gone to the Lilac Tearooms to get refreshment for the firemen and rescue teams, and Da’s standing by with Harvey to go in once the flames are extinguished in the very remote hope that someone might still be alive in there. Now come on, Peg. I’m so sorry, but there’s no point in us standing about getting in the way. Let’s get you and Daisy home.’

  Peggy let Frank take Daisy and then steadied herself by clinging to his arm as they turned their backs on the inferno that was still gushing flames and smoke into the air. They eased through the gathering crowd, and had to wait for another fire engine to pass before they could cross into Camden Road.

  ‘It looks like John’s had to call for outside reinforcements,’ muttered Frank.

  Peggy could barely see through her tears and her heart was aching with loss. She and Doris had fought all their lives and yet she’d always felt a bond with her – a special bond that only sisters could share. And now she’d never have the chance to tell her she loved her, to give her a hug and …

  Peggy stared in disbelief as the ghost of her sister came running towards her. She blinked and looked again, certain she was having some sort of hallucination. But when Doris flung herself into her arms, she knew it was for real.

  She wrapped her in a close embrace. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, thank God you’re alive.’ They clung to one another, their tears mingling as Doris gabbled incoherently and Peggy tried to soothe her.

  Peggy finally drew back and lovingly smoothed Doris’s hair from her tear-streaked face. ‘I love you, Doris,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry I don’t tell you that often enough.’

  ‘I love you too,’ she sobbed. ‘And I’m sorry I’ve been so mean about you working at the factory. I knew you needed the money and I should have helped you out.’

  Peggy shook her head. ‘None of that matters now,’ she said softly. ‘As long as you’re alive, that’s all I care about.’

  Doris was trembling as she glanced towards the smoke that was still rising above the houses and drifting along the cul-de-sac. ‘What happened? Was it a gas explosion? Did everyone get out in time?’ she asked brokenly.

  Peggy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Doris. It was a V-1 rocket and it all happened too quickly for anyone to get out.’

  ‘No, oh, no,’ she groaned, sinking onto a low garden wall. ‘And it’s all my fault,’ she sobbed. ‘If I hadn’t asked them to lunch they’d still be alive.’ She buried her face in her hands and cried in anguish.

  Peggy sat next to her and put her arm round her shoulder. ‘Don’t torture yourself, Doris,’ she begged. ‘It’s not your fault. It was a million to one chance that the rocket came down where it did.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ spluttered Doris, mopping her face with a handkerchief, unaware she’d become the centre of attention from the bystanders and gawkers now the flames were dying down. ‘I simply can’t believe they’re all gone.’

  Peggy held her and waited until she was calmer. ‘I thought you’d gone with them,’ she said, her voice ragged with emotion. ‘I really thought I’d lost you, Doris, and it was the worst moment of my life.’ She took her hands and held them tightly. ‘I can’t tell you how relieved I am you weren’t in there. But where were you?’

  Doris sniffed miserably and dabbed her eyes. ‘I’d forgotten to pick up the smoked salmon I’d ordered for lunch. It’s Lady Chumley favourite.’ She took a quavering breath. ‘But the specialist place I’d ordered it from is in the next village. And then when I finally picked up the salmon the blasted car broke down, and I had to walk all the way back in my new shoes.’

  ‘So the car wasn’t in the garage?’ asked Peggy sharply.

  Doris shook her head. ‘No, it’s parked on the side of the road about three miles away.’

  ‘How many people were in the house?’ asked Frank. ‘The firemen will need to know when it comes to a search.’

  ‘There were twenty for lunch, including me. The two evacuees were supposed to stay and help serve, but as usual they skipped off without a word and left me in the lurch.’

  Doris fell silent and then took a shallow, ragged breath
. ‘Their disobedience saved their lives, just as my forgetfulness saved mine. But when I think of Lady Chumley and Mrs Anstruther-Fox and Camilla …’ She broke down in tears again.

  Peggy looked up at Frank and he helped them both to their feet. ‘Let’s get you both home,’ he said gently.

  ‘But I don’t have a home any more,’ wailed Doris. ‘I’ve lost everything.’

  ‘You have your family, Doris,’ said Peggy. ‘And from now on Beach View will be your home. Come on. Let’s get back there and help you settle.’

  Epilogue

  Ron had lit the fire in the hearth and pulled the curtains on the dreary night. Rosie’s sitting room was warm and cosy, the freshly washed chintz covers on the couches and chairs glowing with faded colour, the cushions plump and inviting. There was a glorious bunch of Stan’s roses in a vase on the mantelpiece, and he’d made a plate of sandwiches for her in case she was hungry after the long journey. There was a fresh bottle of gin on the sideboard, all the glasses had been washed and polished, and even Harvey had had a bath and brush so his brindled coat gleamed in the firelight as he stretched out on the hearthrug.

  Ron looked at his watch. The Anchor had been closed for almost an hour and all was quiet, for most people were in bed at this late hour, but Rosie would be here soon, he was sure of it. He eased a finger round the starched collar of his shirt and adjusted his tie. Peggy had sponged down his best suit, Fran had cut his hair and trimmed his eyebrows, and he’d polished his shoes to a shine this morning, so he knew he looked respectable – even though this get-up was horribly uncomfortable.

  He relaxed back into the couch, mulling over the events of the past two days. The fire in the houses had eventually been extinguished, and a subsequent search through the dank, stinking, blackened shells had revealed that the house next to Doris had thankfully been empty, the occupants working at the Red Cross warehouse.

  The tragic remains of the women attending Doris’s lunch had been found. The majority of the bodies had been located in the drawing room as expected, but there seemed to be evidence that a few of Doris’s guests had been in what turned out to be the charred remains of Doris’s bedroom at the moment the V-1 hit. What they’d been doing there was a mystery, but to shield Doris from any further upset it was decided not to say anything to her – although it would all come out at the inquest.

  There had been nothing to salvage from what had been a beautiful and expensively furnished house. Doris had cried over her loss, but been thankful that at least everything had been insured and she’d been wearing her diamond ring that day, her mink coat lying on the back seat of the car, which was now parked outside Beach View.

  Ron looked at his watch again and then tried to relax into the comfort of the couch and in the tranquillity of this little room. Beach View was always noisy, which he didn’t mind at all, but since Doris had moved in the atmosphere was already different, even though she’d only been there two days. She’d had Peggy running about after her and had insisted upon having the large bedroom at the front, which meant Rita and Ivy had to move to the top of the house.

  Doris seemed to be genuinely mourning the loss of her snooty friends, but when it dawned on her that their loss meant she was now the leading light in the town she’d perked up no end and begun to plot and plan how she’d run things her own way from now on. She’d also taken full advantage of Peggy’s sweetness and relief that she was still alive, and seemed to delight in telling everyone what to do – especially him.

  Ron gave a deep sigh. It was a very great shame that her estranged husband had decided to be away this particular weekend. Where Ted was, or who he was with, no one seemed to know, but as far as Ron was concerned, the quicker he got back and took Doris off their hands, the better. He could only pray the man was willing to do such a thing, for if Doris stayed much longer, Adolf the rooster would not be the only victim of manual strangulation.

  Ron began to get worried as the little clock on the mantel chimed one and then two. There was still no sign of Rosie and he was beginning to fret that something might have happened to her – or that she’d changed her mind and wasn’t coming after all.

  He began to pace the floor, going repeatedly to the window to see if he could spot a car coming down Camden Road. But the silence was profound, the foggy night closing in as the minutes ticked away and the clock chimed three.

  Ron slumped into the chair again, positive now that she wasn’t coming. Lost in his misery he was startled by the slam of the back door, and scrambled to his feet. And there she was, his lovely, smiling Rosie, home again and walking straight into his arms, where she belonged.

  Dear Reader,

  Here we are again back in Cliffehaven with Peggy Reilly and all the lovely people who live at Beach View. The five long years of war is still dragging on, but there is now a glimmer of hope that the tide is turning, and very soon the men will be coming home.

  It has been six years since the first Cliffehaven book was published, and to my great joy, I’ve been able to live, love and cry with the Reillys and their evacuees right through those war years – and it’s not over yet! I never imagined how dearly you would take Peggy, Ron, Cordelia and Rosie to your hearts and I’m fully aware that if anything happens to Harvey, I shall suffer the dire consequences!

  I’ve had such pleasure in introducing them all to you, for they are now an intrinsic part of my own family, and like my family, I’m never quite sure what they’ll get up to next, but it’s great fun finding out, even when they make me cry.

  I hope you enjoyed With a Kiss and a Prayer and I look forward to your comments on Facebook.

  Until the next book, As the Sun Breaks Through, I wish you good health and contentment throughout 2018.

  Did you love With a Kiss and a Prayer?

  Look out for the next Cliffehaven novel

  Pre-order now in paperback and e-book

  Out 23 August 2018

  Interview with Ellie

  1. What made you want to become a writer?

  I’ve always loved reading and making up stories. I am an only child, raised by my grandmother and her sisters, who opened up the world of books to me. Yet it was the family story which always intrigued me and I knew that one day I would have to sit down and write it. I eventually achieved this, and it was the start of me realising that storytelling was something I could really do well. The rest, as they say, is history!

  2. Describe your writing routine and where you like to write.

  I have black coffee for breakfast, at least two cups, and make a point of reading the newspaper before doing the Sudoku, and the cryptic crossword. This gets me into a working frame of mind and wakes up my brain. I have an office in my house that overlooks paddocks and the South Downs, and I sit down there before ten every morning. I check my emails and Facebook, and then read through what I’ve written the day before. Editing this gets me into the next scene that I want to write. I work through from ten until around six, five days a week. If a deadline is looming however, then I might work over the weekend and at night. I find that sometimes I do my best work after midnight!

  3. What themes are you interested in when you’re writing?

  The theme of family, and of the intricate threads that bind people together or tear them apart. People react differently to situations, and I find it fascinating to watch my characters evolve throughout the book.

  4. Where do you get your inspiration from?

  Inspiration comes from everything and anything. A conversation overheard – a newspaper article, a line in a book or a song.

  5. How do you manage to get inside the heads of your characters in order to portray them truthfully?

  Once I have the plot and the title, then I must have the actors playing their parts. I wait for them to come to me, to show themselves and tell me about their lives. It might sound weird, but that’s how I work. It’s like meeting new friends. You don’t know everything about them immediately, but as they talk, you can discover who they are, where
they come from, their social background, their aspirations, their failures, etc. As an author I become this person, with their viewpoint, their likes and dislikes and the reactions they will have to any given situation. An author must evolve into these characters to make them fully rounded, and it doesn’t matter what gender they are – people are very similar underneath the skin.

  6. Do you base your characters on real people? And if not, where does the inspiration come from?

  I don’t actually base my characters on anyone, but there are certainly shades of people I’ve known and loved or disliked intensely. People like to think I’ve based a character on them, but that isn’t so – and yet I might have picked up a habit of theirs, or the way they say things, which leads them to think that it is them.

  7. What’s the most extreme thing you’ve ever done to research your book?

  I flew a Spitfire. It was a simulator, unfortunately, but it certainly gave me the feeling of flying – and I got a certificate to prove it!

  8. What aspect of writing do you enjoy most?

  I love doing most of it. Working out a story, plotting it, finding my characters and taking them through the trials and tribulations of the book to a satisfying end. I enjoy the research too, for I’ve learned a huge amount about World War II, and I’m constantly surprised by what I uncover. The writing is harder and it seems to get harder the more I do it. Probably because I’m aware of the pitfalls, and because, at times, it feels as if I’m trying to knit fog – but once I have written THE END, the joy is in the editing. With the story complete, it’s great to go through it again and turf out all the things that shouldn’t be there, and to make it as good and as polished as possible.

  9. What’s the best thing about being an author?

  Not having to get dressed in the morning to go to work or to go outside when the weather is foul or to battle with commuter traffic.

  10. What advice would you give aspiring writers?