String of Pearls

by Madge Swindells

  Miro waited impatiently, the beach was pale and empty under a half moon. The sea murmured on the sand in small, quiet waves, pillboxes stood in rows along the beach, barbed wire prevented swimmers from entering the sea. This was one of those heavily fortified beaches once considered ideal for invading forces. Ancient history, Miro considered. He wished that it could all be cleared away. Just like he longed for the war to be over. But then Simon and Mike would be gone and maybe Daisy, too. And what about his parents? Would they be free? Had they survived?

  As he trudged up the beach in the loose sand, his shoes making a grating sound, he blew his nose and spat and tried to get the taste out of his mouth and the stench out of his nostrils. Was it the pillbox or Paddy, he wondered?

  Thirty-Two

  Rumours of a party to be given by the combined US camps around Mowbray on New Year’s Eve caused a wave of excitement in Mowbray. It was to be held in a five-star hotel, the Mowbray Heights, built on a cliff top overlooking the bay. The party would see out the rainswept December and welcome in a brand new year. By the time the year was over they’d be well on the way to victory, or so everyone believed.

  Lately no one talks of anything else, Helen mused as she cycled into Mowbray to do her Christmas shopping. Over five hundred guests were expected, which was most of the village; the best looking girls were scrambling for invitations and dressmakers were working all hours running up ball gowns from dyed parachute silk. The band would consist mainly of GIs stationed around the village, but a few local musicians had been invited to give solo performances, one of whom was Miro Levy who would play ‘String of Pearls’.

  Helen had spent the last ten days making a fashionable dress for Daisy and at the fitting, for the first time, she noticed her daughter’s plumper breasts.

  ‘Heavens, you’re getting busty, Daisy? Are they feeding you too well on the farm?’

  ‘I guess so, Mum. All that butter and cream on our bread and jam.’

  On the night of nights, John’s car made a rare appearance. Helen, Miro and Daisy, who were waiting in the car, tried to contain their impatience as Gramps spent a long time going through his pockets for the house keys. At last he locked the door, turned and stepped down from the porch. Hunched and frowning, he hobbled towards them, as if walking on marbles. He sighed as he stooped and ducked his head into the car, sending the scent of moth balls, aftershave and tobacco over them. He twisted around and let gravity take over, falling backwards into the seat with a grunt and a curse as he bumped his knee on the steering wheel. No one had wanted John to drive. He had insisted, but they controlled their irritation because they loved him.

  They proceeded at a funeral pace as John peered short-sightedly through the windscreen. Blackout restrictions were lax because there were no longer raids over England. Doodlebugs passed over Dorset occasionally, but only when they were off-course. Emerging from the trees, they saw that the cliff was blazing with multicoloured lights. Soon they heard snatches of music carried by the wind.

  Feet tapping, fingers clenched together, Daisy’s face was bright with anticipation. She knew she looked superb, despite Mum’s grumbling. Her skin had never looked so fresh and clear, her eyes were wide and sparkling, her dress could have been on the front page of Vogue. Even Miro had said so, yet he seemed so quiet and introverted lately. Most times you can’t get a word out of him, Daisy thought to herself. Look at him now, the silly clot, face all screwed up with nervousness, you’d think the world was coming to an end, but he was only playing the clarinet, when all was said and done.

  Music was far from Miro’s thoughts. He could not shake off his fear. Paddy would be back soon and he sensed coming disaster. He had no facts to back up his fears – it was just a strange feeling of foreboding and however much he tried he could not shake it off.

  Daisy squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Miro. No one can play like you. You’ll stun them, just you wait and see.’

  Nearing the gates they saw that the entrance was blocked by military police checking the tickets. When they caught sight of them, they saluted smartly and waved them through. ‘Go ahead, sir. Have a good time, ma’am . . . and you Miss Daisy,’ they said.

  ‘I feel like royalty,’ Helen said, smiling to herself.

  At the hotel entrance, night burst into day. ‘Wow!’ Daisy gasped. It was four years since Daisy had seen lights blazing at night and she was fired with excitement. John stepped out of the car and handed the keys to a GI doing duty as a parking attendant. The soldiers helped the women out of the car and a tsunami of sound and light engulfed them and swept them into the entrance hall, where flashlights dazzled them. The GIs whistled under their breath while the attendants took their coats.

  Mike was waiting. He shook hands with Helen and John, clapped Miro on the shoulder and grabbed Daisy. ‘Get lost, you guys,’ Mike told his buddies and led Daisy on to the dance floor. They were playing ‘Moon Love’. The two danced so well together and the band was superb. Helen stood watching them for a few minutes. The music changed, the ballroom was filled with jiving couples, but Helen had to admit that Daisy and Mike were the best. It was thrilling to watch them. The jiving ended and a GI threesome sang one of the latest hits, ‘Moonlight Becomes You’. They sang well. Groups of pretty young girls were standing around waiting for one of the shy Yanks to ask them to dance.

  Helen was impressed. She knew so many of the guests and since there was no sign of Simon, she made her way towards the bar, stopping every few seconds to greet someone she knew. Weaving through the crowd while looking for someone to dance with, Helen caught snatches of conversation:

  ‘They say they’re leaving this month.’

  ‘The weather’s too bad, so don’t believe it.’

  ‘I’ve heard we’re short of landing craft.’

  ‘A U-boat has been seen in the Channel.’

  ‘They’re expecting millions of casualties.’

  ‘You can’t believe all you hear.’

  May buttonholed her. She looked quite different: petite and glamorous with make-up on and a lovely dress instead of their usual uniform of thick, navy dungarees. She was holding a glass and a bottle of champagne and she looked happy. ‘Hi, Helen, grab a glass and let me fill it for you. One of my daughters is going steady with one of the Yanks, hence this invitation.’

  ‘I’ll fetch a gin and tonic, May. I’m not fond of champagne, although I’ll have a glass at midnight to see the New Year in.’

  ‘I guess the guy who’s billeted on you gave you the invitations,’ May asked, her bright eyes alight with curiosity.

  ‘Well, they have our fields. Fair’s fair,’ Helen murmured.

  ‘You never talk about him. What’s he like? Is he here?’

  Helen shrugged. ‘He’s . . . he’s just like any one of them. I expect he’s here.’ She tried her best to look non-committal, but then she felt two hands clutching her shoulders.

  ‘Hi darling,’ Simon said. He wrapped one arm around her waist. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. You look lovely. Come and dance. Excuse us,’ he said to May. ‘I’ve been longing to dance with my date.’

  Helen laughed at May’s astonishment.

  ‘You’re a dark horse,’ May called after her.

  Arms around each other they swayed to a foxtrot. The band was superb. Then she realized that Miro was playing ‘Perfidia’.

  ‘Simon . . . it’s Miro. He’s really great.’ They stood still watching him.

  ‘He’s a real pro,’ Simon said.

  They applauded and listened proudly to the audience’s whistles and stamping. After a few words from the band leader, Miro stepped forward again and the band played ‘Moonlight Serenade’.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Simon said, when the dance was over. ‘Let’s move to the terrace where it’s quieter.’ Leading her to the heated terrace, he found a seat for her and went in search of one for himself. ‘Hang on to this, while I get us some drinks.’

  ‘It’s like this, Helen,’ he said when he r
eturned. ‘I want to know how you’d feel about marrying me.’ He grinned self-consciously.

  ‘I love you with all my heart.’ She smiled, wondering why he needed this reassurance. ‘And all the rest of me, of course.’

  ‘Enough to marry me . . . now . . . before we go? And it could be any time? A week . . . a month . . . No one knows for sure.’

  ‘I can’t leave my family until they are all settled.’

  ‘We wouldn’t be able to move to the States until after the war.’

  ‘It’s not a case of love, Simon, but of duty. I can’t leave my kids and I can’t abandon John. Most of his antipathy towards you is because he doesn’t want to lose his family and be left alone. He’s been very good to us. Why should I abandon him now . . . in his old age? He’s pushing eighty.’

  ‘You could persuade him to sell the house and fields and join us in the States.’

  ‘I have to consider Miro and Daisy, too. I need to see them settled before I leave England.’

  Simon looked upset, so she took hold of his hands. ‘You will never know how much I long to say yes, Simon, but I can’t allow Daisy to feel that she’s getting in the way of my happiness. She has a home with her mother and I aim to keep it that way until she flies the nest. The same applies to Miro. He’s like my son. If I were to marry you now, Daisy and Miro would know I’m waiting to leave for America. They’d feel pressurized and even homeless.’ She gazed appealingly at him. ‘I’ve been a good mother. I’ve put a lot into it. I don’t want to ruin it now.’ Simon was gazing out of the window. There was an ominous silence. ‘Surely you understand. I need to wait until the kids are older and settled with jobs and their own homes.’

  ‘They seemed like my kids, too,’ he said quietly.

  They danced for a while, but it wasn’t quite the same anymore. When one of the GIs needed to talk to Simon, she went looking for John. She found him sitting alone in an easy chair tucked around the corner of the bar. Unbelievably he was having a snooze. Compassion surged.

  ‘Ah! There you are. Did you hear Miro playing solo, Dad?’

  ‘I certainly did and I was impressed. The boy has enormous talent. He should be studying music. Perhaps we’ve failed him.’

  ‘Right now he wants nothing more than to get into a fighting unit. Well, I can’t say I blame him. Stay there, Dad. I’m bringing someone to talk to you.’

  May was dancing with her daughter. ‘Do me a favour, May. Come and talk to my father. He’s a bit older than you, but he’s a good dancer . . . or he was.’

  She left them together and the next time she saw them, they were doing the Charleston with a small circle of admirers gathered around them. John, smiling for once, with crimson cheeks and shining eyes, seemed to have shed a couple of decades.

  Daisy, who was jiving flamboyantly, but expertly to ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, suddenly felt thirsty and dizzy. Her back hurt and she felt tearful and fretful. ‘I’m tired,’ she complained.

  ‘Well, that’s a first. I thought you never got tired.’ Mike scanned her face and saw how pale she had become with deep shadows under her eyes. ‘Let’s get some food for you. How about a coke first?’

  ‘I would absolutely hate a coke right now,’ Daisy said vehemently, surprising herself. ‘I’d like a glass of cold milk . . . really cold. Yes, that’s what I’d like. And I’d like it now. I’m truly desperate.’

  Mike saw a flash of petulance in her mouth, but moments later her mood had changed. ‘Jesus, Mike. Try and get that milk fast. And a piece of bread with butter on it. That will make me feel OK. Just a slice of nice brown bread. Not the rubbish we’ve been getting nowadays.’

  ‘I’ll get it myself, hon. Just sit tight there.’

  Mike grabbed a waiter and paid him to show him the way to the kitchen to get her snack fast. The waiter was Polish, he’d come over to join the war only to find that his heart was faulty. ‘How far gone is she?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mike knew what he meant, but shock had turned him into an idiot.

  ‘Your wife. She is pregnant, yes?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mike said.

  ‘Mazel tov!’ The waiter smiled knowingly.

  Mike’s blood ran cold as he considered his predicament. Daisy was too young to marry and he was about to fight his way through Europe. He wouldn’t be there to help her. Her family would be furious and she would bear the brunt of their contempt. Their leaving could be anytime now. Everyone knew that they would get very little notice. What would she do? What could he do? He’d been so careful to pull out in time since they’d started making love. Surely it wasn’t possible. No, of course not. Daisy would have told him.

  Moments later he hurried back to her, the waiter following, with the milk and the bread and butter on a tray. He glanced approvingly at Daisy. ‘Lucky you,’ he whispered. Lucky wasn’t the word Mike would have chosen at that moment.

  Daisy gobbled it all and sighed because she would have liked more. He tried to tempt her with the buffet supper, but she would have none of it.

  ‘Daisy,’ he whispered, when they were sitting on the glass-enclosed terrace watching the moonlight shining on the rippling sea. ‘When was your last period?’

  ‘Why do you ask that?’ She felt irritated. First Mum, now Mike. There was nothing wrong. She couldn’t be pregnant. Things like that didn’t happen to girls like her. She’d only been having periods for two years. She was a late starter and they were never regular. She was just late and that was all.

  ‘We seem to have been making love on and off ever since Brixham. I don’t remember you having a period since then.’

  ‘It’s just late, that’s all. I find the whole business absolutely yucky. D’you mind if we don’t talk about it.’

  ‘We must talk about it. We share everything, don’t we?’

  ‘Oh Mike. I missed a period, but so what. I’ve never been regular and I’ve missed periods before. Forget it. I don’t want to talk about it ever again. We always take care, don’t we?’

  Icy shivers ran through him. Shocked and helpless, he no longer felt like dancing, or eating, or anything. He just wanted to know, so he could make a plan.

  ‘Let’s dance,’ she said.

  ‘No, you look so pale, you should rest.’

  ‘Oh . . . how ridiculous. I suppose you’ll be brooding over this forever.’

  Shouldn’t you be? he thought.

  ‘I’m going to ask someone to dance with me. I feel like dancing,’ she said moodily.

  ‘OK. Come on then.’ They were playing ‘South of the Border’ and Mike took hold of Daisy and propelled her slowly round the ballroom. She was certainly changed: moody, emotional and difficult and she looked pale and drawn, although she had been fine when they arrived.

  ‘Ouch!’ she said. ‘You’re not concentrating. You stood on my foot.’

  ‘Would you marry me, Daisy?’ he replied.

  ‘I thought we’d already settled that. After the war I’ll join you in Denver and we’ll get married.’

  ‘But would you marry me now?’

  ‘Yes, of course, if we could, but I’m only seventeen.’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ he said.

  John was enjoying himself. May and he had danced for two hours, eaten their way through prawns, chicken and trifle and told each other their life stories. Now she was leaving with her daughter and her daughter’s GI boyfriend. John linked arms with her and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Listen May, I don’t know how you’d feel about seeing me again, for supper, or a film . . . anything you’d like.’

  ‘What would Helen think of that?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sure she’d be delighted. After all, she introduced us.’

  ‘Then I’d like that. I’ve been very lonely since Reg died.’

  He beamed as he waved them goodbye. When Helen found him sitting by the bar she couldn’t help noticing that he looked much happier.

  ‘How d’you feel after all your dancing, Dad?’
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  ‘Delighted! You’ve been keeping an eye on me, have you?’

  ‘Spellbound actually. I had no idea you had all that energy.’

  ‘Well, now you know. May’s quite a girl. A good sport and fun to be with.’

  ‘Yes, I like her, too,’ Helen said.

  Helen, on the other hand, was feeling tired and despondent. It’s like a bloody orgy, she thought, gazing moodily at the bar and the buffet. There had been so much revelry and laughter, and the guests, stuffed with food and dizzy with champagne, had sweated and writhed their way through the latest dance steps, all desperate to pack as much fun as they could into the time left, but no one knew just when the Yanks would go. A thrill of fear touched her as she thought of Simon fighting his way up the beaches against the Germans’ massed defences. She shuddered, blinked and rushed to the cloakroom to bathe her eyes.

  The party came to an end all too soon, but from then on, as the days passed, it seemed to Helen that time had speeded up. It wasn’t just Helen who felt like this. Everyone was complaining. Almost half of Mowbray was involved with someone in the armed forces.

  Who would live? Who would die? These were the unspoken questions that were never voiced, but for women in love, the questions were always with them.

  Helen began to think about God. She always went to church on Sunday mornings, but it was for the children’s sake. She had lost her faith somewhere in the Southampton blitz, or perhaps it had begun long before in Dover, or when the young nun at Daisy’s school was trapped in the chapel during the blitz and burned to death. All she knew was that no one was up there looking out for anyone. Nevertheless she prayed for the survival of every one of her loved ones and others whom she barely knew. What else could she do?