‘Like a father?’
‘Shoot, no, I can find a nice old guy with whiskers to be my pa,’ said Cecily. ‘Was I OK, Claud, did you like kissing me?’
‘Well, of course I did,’ said Frisby.
‘Isn’t that great? I liked it too. I guess we’re dating steady now, Claud?’
I thought that seemed an open and shut case and said so. I asked Frisby why he thought there was a problem.
‘Is she forcing herself, mate, that’s the problem,’ said Frisby.
‘More like she’s after a wartime wedding. What a good job you’ve done on her, doctor.’
‘Think so? She keeps saying she likes this tight little island, all the daisies and everything. Pretty, she keeps saying. You sure that sounds like a wartime wedding?’
‘Lucky old you.’
‘But should I tell her a doctor can’t marry his patient?’
‘Why can’t you? It’s legal. And you wanted a little woman for your post-war future. Now you’ve got one.’
*
I couldn’t avoid Jim in the pub that evening. He wouldn’t let me. He took me aside.
‘Missus said come round Tuesday evenin’. Goin’ bikin’ again with yer nice female sergeant tomorrer, are yer, maybe? Fine legs she’s got. Minnie don’t think ’ighly of ’er, though. Ah, ’ere she is, just come in. Got ’er nice eyes on yer, Tim boy.’
A hand touched my elbow. I turned. Kit smiled sweetly. ‘Buy me one, Tim old boy?’ she said.
‘A pink nightie?’ I offered.
‘A Suffolk cider. I’ll find a table and play you checkers.’
‘You’re on. Can I walk you back to BHQ afterwards?’
‘Sure you can,’ said Kit. ‘At a safe distance.’ She laughed.
I had the bikes ready when she met me on the forecourt on Sunday afternoon. She inspected her machine with the cool, critical eye of a woman who knew it was second nature with men to dig pits for females. The major’s myopic Dalmatian, wandering about on the loose, padded up on eager paws and made a blind try for her left leg. I tickled it with a bicycle pump and it shot off howling.
‘You hit that dog, you brute,’ said Kit.
‘Saved your left leg, though,’ I said. She bounced her bike, testing the tyres. ‘I think they’ll hold out,’ I said.
‘Yes, we don’t want to run out of gas again, do we, Hardy?’
‘Just bad luck last time.’
‘Oh, sure. Let’s go.’
We went riding through the gates and out into the countryside, taking the winding lanes. We rode together. Kit’s skirt travelled enough to make her legs a picture. The weather was warm but breezy, the sky in the east full of little white puff-ball clouds.
Kit, riding easily, said, ‘This is great, this is fresh air and sweet peace. Are you looking?’
‘Not all the time.’
‘Why are men stupid about stockings?’
‘I think we’re stupid about everything. Well, I am.’
‘Never mind,’ said Kit, ‘you’re still useful, I hope.’
In that friendly way, we enjoyed our ride to Mary’s. Mary was delighted to see us again. She was a chatty old love. Kit and I meant welcome Sunday company for her. Her neighbours on either side were chummy but a bit ancient and accordingly prone to drop off during an afternoon gossip, which gave Mary’s chattiness a poke in the eye. Kit’s willing American ear was very welcome. The two of them were soon basking in fields of conversational clover. Lively as crickets, they were. I wandered away to do some gardening.
Mary called, ‘There’s a door come, Tim, I just remembered.’
‘A door? It dropped in, did it?’ I went back into the living-room.
‘No, you silly, it was brought.’
‘Oh, that door,’ I said.
‘With some big bits of wood.’
‘Good.’
‘A shifty-looking man brought them,’ said Mary. ‘Mind, he spoke friendly and was nice in a way. Mr Beavers he said his name was.’
‘I’ve met that guy myself,’ said Kit. ‘I rate him suspect. Did you feel relieved, Mary, that you were still alive after he’d gone?’
‘Oh, I didn’t feel I was being accosted,’ said Mary, ‘just looked over.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if a nice old bloke like Jim can’t look over a well-formed widow or an American Wac without being thought shifty and suspect, I can’t see any point in men and women being made differently. Mind you,’ I said, making a safety move to the door, ‘if we were all the same, would we face the world with bosoms or chests?’
As I disappeared, I heard Mary giggle. I heard Kit say, ‘Let’s face it, Mary, they’re all a little screwy.’
I looked in the garden shed. The door was there, with posts and other bits of wood. Good old Jim. Disgraceful sod he may have been, conniving with his Missus, but he had his better points. The door and the posts would do. I only needed to swipe some suitable hinges off a shelf in the quartermaster’s stores. And all the necessary tools were available, except a saw. That I could borrow from the stores. I only needed to write out a chit.
The open air felt good, so I did some hoeing. The chickens cocked suspicious eyes and adopted stiff one-legged attitudes in case I was there to wring a neck or two. In my shirt sleeves, I hoed in the sunshine. The sky became completely clear, the breeze dropped and the afternoon turned balmy. Kit came out and said Mary thought it would be nice to have tea in the garden, so perhaps I’d get some deckchairs from the shed. I hoed on.
‘I’m speaking to you, Tim old buddy.’
‘Was there something?’
‘Yes. Deckchairs. Mary said—’
‘All right, I’ll get them out.’
I got three folding deckchairs from the shed and erected them on the lawn. Kit brought out a folding card-table. I took it from her, unfolded it and set it up.
‘I could have done that,’ she said.
‘No, I’m the handyman,’ I said.
‘So what am I?’ she asked, with one of her cool looks.
‘You’re sir.’
‘That’s not funny,’ said Kit, ‘and if you say anything like that again, I’ll kick your teeth in.’
‘You would too.’
‘Yes, I would too.’
Mary came out and laid a white cloth over the table. Tea followed. Mary served poached eggs on toast, scones and jam. Kit tucked in, utterly enchanted by this kind of English tea. Mary talked about Fred Plummer and how he’d come to look at her mower at last and how she told him he was too late. So he said he’d look at her drains instead and she told him he was too late for that as well. She suggested perhaps he could think about getting her chimney swept before winter arrived. Fred said he’d come and look at it sometime.
‘You’d never believe how many ways he’s got of doing nothing,’ said Mary. ‘I never met a lazier ha’porth. I’ve got as much chance of getting him to look at my chimney as I’ve got of getting my chickens to lay gold eggs.’
‘He’s not the only man in the world, Mary,’ said Kit, ‘so we’re not licked yet. We’ll find someone else.’
I could hardly credit the craftiness of women. ‘Drains, yes,’ I said. ‘Chimneys, no.’
‘You could give it a go,’ said Kit.
‘I’m not getting stuck up any chimney,’ I said.
‘You amaze me,’ said Kit. ‘There are thousands of brave British boys fighting it out in the Middle East and Far East and you’re sitting here drinking Mary’s tea and eating her cookies and you can’t even bring yourself to sweep her chimney.’
‘Oh, don’t be unkind to him, Kit,’ said Mary, ‘Tim’s awful obliging, really he is. And he’s done a good job helping to shoot down them German bombers that blitzed us.’
‘OK, Mary, I won’t tell you exactly what he did help to shoot down,’ said Kit.
‘I’m not going up any chimney,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to go up it,’ said Kit.
‘Good,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to think about fixing that d
oor to the porch. I’ll start next Sunday, Mary.’
‘I just don’t know anyone more helpful than you, Tim,’ said Mary.
‘I’ll trim your hedges after tea.’
‘You’re a real love,’ said Mary.
‘Sweet,’ said Kit.
When tea was over, I found the shears and started work. Kit helped Mary wash the dishes, then came to loiter and watch.
‘There’s a lot of clippings,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know, sir, but I’ll be raking them up.’
‘I’ll kill you,’ said Kit, ‘but I’ll get the rake first.’
She used the rake herself, looking trim in her shirt and skirt. She might have been hopeless with a garden rake, but she wasn’t, of course. She made tidy heaps, all of which she transferred efficiently to the wheelbarrow.
‘Well, that’s very good, sir,’ I said, when the hedges were finished and the trimmings all disposed of.
‘You’re losing your charm,’ said Kit.
Mary said a grateful goodbye to us and we began our ride back to BHQ in the balmy light of the evening sun. Kit suggested a stop at the village pub.
‘Good idea, I could sink a pint,’ I said.
‘My treat,’ said Kit, ‘you’re not a bad old buddy.’
When we reached Sheldham, Missus was at the gate of her cottage. Clad in a flowery dress, she was talking to a neighbour. Seeing me, she waved. Seeing Kit, she smiled.
‘Evening, Missus,’ I called, cycling past.
‘Another widow?’ asked Kit.
‘No, she’s Mrs Jim. I get eggs from her occasionally.’
‘Are you a womanizer?’
‘Not yet.’
We left our bikes at the rear of the Suffolk Punch and went in. The public bar was as crowded as always. Evensong was over for the locals and they were wetting their Sunday whistles. Kit received her usual boisterous welcome from GIs and disappeared in the middle of them. As she didn’t call for help, I went to say hello to Jim.
‘Evening, Jim. Ta for delivering the wood to Mary Coker.’
‘Good stuff, it was,’ said Jim. ‘Wasn’t for free. Charged your widder woman two bob, includin’ valuable cartage.’
‘You old Shylock, charging any widow that much. A tanner would have been enough. Has Missus turned over a new leaf? She looked as if she had.’
‘Now, Tim boy, you ain’t catchin’ me out with clever questions. Missus has been to Evensong in ’er Sunday best. She was put out, yer know, you not turnin’ up for tea that Sunday. But she’s forgiven yer, lad.’
‘I’d like a pint of old ale,’ I said, ‘and it’s your turn.’
‘’Ere, you sure?’ said Jim.
‘Sure I’m sure,’ I said.
Kit was still in the middle of the scrum, talking to two American sergeants. So I let Jim buy me a pint. He said Missus still had hopes for me. ‘Leave off,’ I said, ‘think about how you’d feel if Missus shot herself in a fit of remorse.’
‘Don’t talk foreign, Tim. Showin’ off, that is. Anyway, Missus wouldn’t know ’ow to use me shotgun. ’Ere, ain’t this a damn old war, like our Min says? No room in this pub to ’ardly stand up. I ain’t sayin’ I don’t like the Yanks, only sayin’ I never knowed there was so many of ’em. Still, it looks like you been an’ found that nice female one. Rides a sweet old bike, I ’eard. Got a good pair of pedallers, I ’eard.’
‘Is that a fact? I’d better take a look at them, I wouldn’t want to miss what you’ve heard. How’s Min?’
‘Funny, like,’ said Jim, chewing his pipe. ‘All broody one day, all sauce the next. Spring fever, I reckon.’
‘It’s summer.’
‘At ’er age, lad, spring fever lasts a year. I ain’t sure she don’t need a tanning, I ain’t sure she ought to talk about you the way she does. Blowed if she didn’t say she’ll chop yer bonce off if you get fancy ideas about yer lady sergeant. Best you don’t get too close to ’er.’
‘Look, Min can keep her virgin bosom to herself—’
‘’Old on, ‘old on,’ said Jim, ‘you been at young Min’s vest?’
‘She wears a vest?’
‘Course she wears a vest. Girl ’er age ain’t decent without one. You ain’t been there, ’ave you?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said.
‘When all’s said an’ done, yer know, she is me own flesh an’ blood.’
‘I see. After trying to chuck your Missus at me, you’re now telling me your daughter’s purity is precious to you?’
Jim chewed his pipe, took it out, supped beer, put his pipe back and peered at me. ‘Ain’t tellin’ you nothing, Tim lad, except you give Min ’alf a chance an’ she’ll ’ave you. Eat you alive. She’ll be sixteen anytime now.’
‘Well, buy her a rocking-horse for her birthday.’
Kit appeared, a glass of gin and tonic in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. The beer was for me. I still had some left of what Jim had bought me, so Kit pushed her treat into my left hand.
‘Well, thanks,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Kit.
‘Evenin’, Kitty Lou,’ said Jim.
‘Hi, Mr Beavers.’ Kit gave him a smile, overlooking what she considered was his shiftiness. ‘It’s Kit, not Kitty Lou.’
‘Kitty Lou’s pretty, though,’ said Jim, his beady eyes twinkling.
‘Kitty Lou is endemic to States like Louisiana,’ said Kit.
‘It ain’t a disease, is it?’
‘In a way,’ said Kit. ‘Play you checkers, Tim?’
‘OK.’
Jim sat down with us to watch. Mostly he watched Kit, as if he meant to report on her to Missus. I had a feeling Missus was acting as proxy for Aunt May, that she wasn’t going to let me take up with any woman she didn’t approve of.
We played four games. Kit played with her keenness and her vitality showing, her eyes quick and alert. I was getting so fond of her that I didn’t mind letting her win.
‘You’re fooling about,’ she said.
‘Me?’
‘Well, that is you there, isn’t it, playing like you’re retarded?’
‘I’m enjoying the company,’ I said.
‘Company’s needful,’ said Jim. ‘As long as they got a roof over their ’eads and enough to eat, people can do without nearly everything else except each other. I wouldn’t be nothing without Missus. I know I got me chickens, but I don’t call ’em company.’
‘I get you,’ said Kit and smiled. ‘What’s checkers, anyway?’
We said good night to Jim and cycled back to BHQ. It was dark. As we passed through the village, a dog came running from across the street. Barking, it went for Kit’s bike. She fell off. Someone whistled and the dog ran back. It looked like Jim’s dog to me, the one that waited for foxes at night. I stopped and helped Kit to her feet.
‘That crazy dog,’ she said, brushing herself down.
‘You OK, Kit?’
‘Just a broken neck,’ she said.
‘Don’t muck about, are you hurt?’
‘Look who’s talking, the number one comic in BHQ. No, I’m OK, thanks, just a little startled.’
When we reached BHQ, she actually waited while I returned the bikes to their stands outside the stores. Then she allowed me to walk her to the ATS quarters. She said she’d enjoyed the outing.
‘My pleasure,’ I said.
She laughed, lifted her face and kissed me. It wasn’t a bad kiss, either. ‘Thanks for the company, Tim,’ she said.
‘Good as a Christmas present, that was,’ I said.
She laughed again and ghosted away.
That Minnie, the terror. She’d sent the family dog after Kit.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRISBY WAS ENDURING a lot of self-examination. He thought Cecily ought to try marriage to save herself from a worse fate, but what would it do to her? And what would it do to him? Would what was desirable for her also be desirable for him? Would she like going to bed with a man until death did them part? Did he wa
nt to take on the worry of that? And so on.
Cecily collared me as I came off duty one evening. She was suffering some nervous twitches.
‘Hi, Tim,’ she said and made an effort to smile.
‘Problems?’ I said. ‘Just hit Frisby over the head.’
‘Oh, shoot, I couldn’t do that, he’s my nice guy,’ she said.
‘What’s on your mind, then?’ I asked.
‘Kit spoke to me a couple of days ago.’ Cecily swallowed. ‘About that inquiry.’
‘All blown over,’ I said.
‘Sure, but – well, I thought that lecherous old geezer was after my legs. I was mad. I was going to report you’d let him lift a can of gas from that mousetrap. Kit talked me out of mentioning you, so I told Major Moffat I’d seen the guy with a British can of gas when I was riding by in the mousetrap, that he was carrying it into his cottage. I didn’t say you’d stopped outside his cottage, so I guess he thought you might have given it to him while you were parked outside the railroad station, waiting for us. He asked me questions, but I stuck to that. Cassidy and Kit refused to volunteer any information and anyway, they acted as if it was all a mystery to them. Oh, hell, I’m real sorry, Tim, honest to God I am. Kit said I ought to be fair, I ought to tell you. She was mad about the inquiry, I guess because you had an idea she spilled the beans.’
‘No harm done, Cecily,’ I said, ‘it all turned into a powder puff.’
‘You’re not mad at me?’
‘Not a bit. Just pleased it’s all tidied up.’
‘Will you do me a big favour and not say anything to Claud? He’ll think I’m a lousy guy.’
‘I don’t think he thinks you’re a guy, I think he thinks you’re a girl. You’re doing a great job on him.’
‘I’m what?’ she said.
‘Keep it up,’ I said.
Cecily smiled wryly. ‘No, he’s the dcotor,’ she said.
Frisby put in an appearance at that point. Cecily flashed me a look of appeal and fled.
‘What’s up with my chaste patient?’ asked Frisby.
‘In a hurry, that’s all. She brought me a message from Kit.’
‘Passionate?’
‘Not yet,’ I said. We began the walk to our hut.
‘I’m in six minds about Cecily,’ said Frisby. ‘Who wouldn’t be with this war still going on? I could still get shot to pieces, or it might last another ten years, by which time I won’t care if I’m living or dead. I mean, who can make plans? Have I got a future? I know it looks as if I’ve got a bird who likes my medicine and I wouldn’t want her wandering the face of the earth if I disappointed her. But with things as they are, how can I make decisions? On the other hand, can I let my nervous patient wander off to rack and ruin?’
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