by Erica James
But for all that, the way some people viewed it the war had hardly got going, and maybe never would, not properly. ‘It’s nothing but a phoney war,’ was what Florence regularly heard in the village.
It seemed the government was forever saying what people couldn’t do and what they couldn’t have – coal and petrol were rationed, and if you didn’t obey the blackout regulations you could go to prison, while old Bert Cox, the ARP warden, would love nothing better than to shoot on sight anyone who let so much as a chink of light show! Every day, as soon as it was dark, around the village he’d go, yelling, ‘Put that light out!’
But it didn’t seem like there was much reason for what they were doing, and to hear the way some folk grumbled, you’d think they were disappointed not to be bombed out of their homes or gunned down in the street. They should think themselves lucky that nothing was happening, in Florence’s opinion.
Many of the evacuees who’d come to the village in September had returned home, despite the government advising against it. Stanley’s mother, who hadn’t written to him once since his arrival, had not requested he should go home. Nor had the boy shown any desire to leave.
After just three months, he bore little resemblance to the lad he’d been when he’d first pitched up. Under Mrs Partridge’s vigilant eye he’d put on weight, got some colour in his cheeks and gained confidence. He was also doing well with his lessons, and every day when he came home from school, he’d sit at the kitchen table with his exercise book and stubby pencil doing the extra work Miss Flowerday set him so he could catch up with the others. Miss Flowerday had guessed that the reason for his reluctance to go to school was because he couldn’t read and write. Well he was getting there now. Florence helped him when she could, as did Miss Romily.
But the real reason for the change for the better in Stanley was down to Bobby, the dog Elijah had given him. They were inseparable and went everywhere together, apart from school, but the minute Stanley was due home in the afternoon, the dog was waiting for him at the end of the drive with his tail wagging. They were out together now, delivering Christmas cards for Miss Romily.
For Florence, Christmas had seemed like it would never come. She had literally been counting the days, willing the day to arrive when she would see Billy again. A private in the Suffolk Regiment, he was home on leave this afternoon, along with Tommy and Elijah, their basic training now over. They’d been based at the barracks in Bury St Edmunds, which was only a thirty-minute train journey away, but with no leave allowed until today, they might just as well have been in Timbuktu.
With each day they had been apart, Florence’s feelings for Billy had deepened, and with each letter he’d written she’d felt she was getting to know him better. His letters had often made her laugh, especially when he wrote about the lads he was training with – ‘a great bunch’ – and what they got up to when they weren’t carrying out drill practice, or learning how to use a Bren gun and anti-tank rifles. The way he told it, being in the army was one big lark, coupled with an impatience to get the job done to show the Hun what he had coming to him.
Florence supposed that sort of bravado was part and parcel of being turned into a soldier, but had it changed Billy? How could it not, as otherwise how would he cope when he did go and fight? He could not remain the same tender-hearted young man he’d been when she’d got to know him. And maybe that would mean he would see her through different eyes; maybe now she would be just a very dull girl to him.
The day Billy had left to start his training, he’d surprised Florence with a silver heart-shaped locket, which he’d told her had belonged to his grandmother. As he’d put it on her, taking forever over fixing the catch on the necklace chain, he’d kissed the nape of her neck, making her shiver. ‘I don’t expect you to feel the same way about me, Flo,’ he’d said, turning her round, ‘but before I go, I want you to know something important. It’s this: I think you’re pretty special.’
‘Well, Mr Billy Know-It-All,’ she’d said, ‘I have news for you. I think you’re pretty special too.’
‘You do?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. Why wouldn’t I think that?’
‘I can think of half a dozen reasons.’
‘Then I’d advise you to keep them to yourself.’
She hadn’t taken the locket off since he’d given it to her. Every night she fell asleep with a hand pressing it against her heart, praying that Billy would never come to harm. She chanted the prayer over and over to ward off the gypsy’s words – You’ll find love and you’ll lose love. Oh how she wished she had never stepped into the old witch’s tent, for those words – that curse – had haunted her ever since!
The last of the mistletoe and ivy that Stanley had fetched for her that morning from Teal’s now used up in decorating the hall, drawing room and dining room, Florence glanced at the grandfather clock. Another forty-five minutes and she would change out of her maid’s uniform to go and meet Billy. Her heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing him again.
In his last letter he’d told her he would tell his mother he was catching a later train than the one he’d actually be on; that way he would be able to see Florence for an hour before his parents expected him. They both knew that if his mother had her way, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave her side for a single minute while he was home.
Florence went and checked that the fire was still burning in the drawing room. Miss Romily would be back soon with Hope and Annelise, and Florence wanted everything to be perfect for her. She had been away in London at her flat for a few days doing her Christmas shopping and catching up with friends, as well as her agent and publisher. She had asked Florence if she wanted to go with her for a change of scene, but Florence had declined. London was part of her old life; she had no interest in going back. This was where her life was now. And anyway, in the run-up to Christmas, there was so much to do here. Mrs Partridge couldn’t manage on her own, and Mrs Bunch was the laziest woman Florence had ever known. She did about an hour’s work and then spent the rest of her time nursing a mug of tea by the range while dishing up the latest round of gossip. She claimed constantly that she was on borrowed time, what with her varicose veins and what she proudly called her dicky ticker. Dicky ticker, my foot! thought Florence every time the annoying woman mentioned it.
‘It be a wonder to me every morning when I wakes and finds the good Lord has spared me for another day,’ Mrs Bunch often said.
No, thought Florence, the wonder was that Miss Romily didn’t get rid of her. But maybe it was a case of keeping her close to be sure of staying up to date with what was going on in the village.
After throwing another log into the grate and giving it a shove with the poker, then rearranging the tinsel on the Christmas tree – Stanley had been a little ham-fisted with it earlier when Florence had asked him to help – she went to see if Mrs Partridge needed anything doing.
‘All in hand,’ the older woman said cheerily. ‘The steak and kidney pudding is made and waiting to be steamed for supper, the mince pies are in the pantry and the trifle is all done. Why don’t you go and get yourself ready? I know you must be fair itching to see that young man of yours.’
Blushing, Florence didn’t need telling twice. She thanked Mrs Partridge and was about to go upstairs to her room and change when she heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by voices.
‘That must be Miss Romily back already with Hope and Annelise,’ she said, surprised.
‘Well, better look lively; I’ll put the kettle on and put a tray together. Doubtless they’ll be ready for a cuppa. The house is going to feel a lot jollier now with a few more people in it.’
‘Look who we came across on the Melstead Road!’ exclaimed Miss Romily, shrugging off her fur coat and throwing it on to a hall chair. ‘Doesn’t he look handsome in his uniform?’
Framed in the open doorway, a blast of freezing cold air rushing in
around him, was Billy. And yet it wasn’t Billy. He looked so very different in his uniform, taller and broader, and somehow older. But oh how handsome he was! Florence’s heart thumped so hard in her chest that she struggled to speak.
‘Hello, Flo,’ he said, removing his cap. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘You look well,’ she finally managed to say while bending down to Annelise as the child tottered toward her with a wide toothy smile on her face.
‘Flo, Flo,’ the little girl said. ‘Flo, Flo.’
‘Look at that,’ said Hope. ‘All this time since we were last here, and she remembers you!’
‘Course she does,’ said Florence. ‘It’s because she’s such a clever little poppet.’ She picked up the child and hugged her, using her to hide behind. This wasn’t how she’d wanted Billy to see her, not in her uniform and in front of other people. She had planned to put on the new dress she had saved up for and style her hair better. She had planned to throw her arms around him and give him the biggest welcome-home kiss imaginable.
As if sensing her awkwardness, Miss Romily said, ‘Florence, why don’t you take Billy through to the kitchen and find him something to eat and drink while Hope and I sort ourselves out?’
‘First let me help with your luggage,’ Billy said. ‘It’s the least I can do after you giving me a lift, madam.’
‘Thank you, Billy, that’s very kind of you.’
‘I’ll give him a hand,’ Florence said, regaining her composure and lowering Annelise to the floor. ‘Meanwhile why don’t you go on into the drawing room? The fire’s lit, so it’s nice and warm in there. Mrs Partridge is making some tea for you.’
As soon as they were alone, and standing in the shelter of the porch, Billy swept Florence up in his arms. He kissed her long and hard, his cold lips pressed firmly against hers, and any niggling worries she’d had about him viewing her differently vanished. She kissed him back, and then when she began to feel light-headed with love for him, she said breathlessly, ‘You’ll get me sacked carrying on like this. I thought we were meeting at three o’clock?’
He smiled. ‘I managed to get away even earlier. Seemed like a good idea to me. Of course if it’s not convenient, I could always go away and—’
She tapped his chest with a finger. ‘You’re not going anywhere, not until you’ve helped me get the luggage in!’
‘Then what do you plan to do?’
‘Then you can have something to eat and we’ll go for a walk.’
He grinned. ‘Somewhere quiet and secluded, I hope.’
Florence tutted. ‘I hope you haven’t picked up any bad ways while you’ve been away, Billy Minton.’
‘It’s good to be home,’ Romily said with a contented sigh as she warmed herself in front of the fire. ‘It was lovely catching up with everybody in town, even if half the time we couldn’t see where we were going in the blackout and kept falling into the road, and nearly killing ourselves! But all the time I couldn’t wait to get back. London isn’t the same without Jack; it’s here where I feel closest to him.’
‘It’s good that you have that,’ said Hope. ‘It might seem strange, but being with Annelise makes me feel closer to Dieter. Sometimes,’ she added with a slow smile that softened her face, ‘I look at her and I see something of Dieter in her features. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now as she’s growing. I can’t believe she’s already fourteen months old. She’s just started to call me Tante. I’m probably biased, but I think she’s an extremely bright child.’
‘She’s a credit to you, Hope,’ said Romily with a fond smile. ‘She seems such a happy little girl.’
With Hope kneeling on the floor next to Annelise, who was staring in rapt wonder at the Christmas tree, Romily thought what a heart-warming sight they made. She was glad she had invited Hope to join her for Christmas.
Just as Romily had suspected would happen, since making the decision to return to London in September, Hope had devoted herself entirely to looking after Annelise. She had given up all idea of working, unable to concentrate for long enough to produce the detailed sketches she once had. Romily had urged her to hire a nanny to help look after Annelise so that she could work, but Hope had found herself checking everything the woman did, and at times strongly disagreeing with the regime she seemed to think was suitable. It made me think of some of the ghastly nannies we had to suffer as children, she had written in a long letter to Romily, and I just couldn’t inflict that on Annelise.
Romily was placing another log on the fire and thinking how changed London had been – huge silver barrage balloons filling the sky, sandbags everywhere, Hyde Park dug up and Eros removed to safety from Piccadilly Circus – when the door opened and Florence came in with a tea tray. Following behind her was young Stanley, his faithful dog Bobby at his side. Which reminded Romily of the present she wanted to give the boy, and for which she needed Hope’s help.
‘Hello, Stanley,’ she said. ‘You remember Mrs Meyer and Annelise, don’t you?’
He nodded. Then, bending down to Bobby, and pointing at Hope and the little girl, he said, ‘Remember your manners, go and say ’ello.’
To Romily’s amazement, the dog trotted obediently over to Hope and Annelise, then sat down and held out a paw to them. Annelise giggled with delight. ‘Woof, woof,’ she said excitedly, rocking back on her heels and patting the dog on his nose.
‘Did you teach him to do that, Stanley?’ asked Hope.
Stanley nodded again, this time with obvious pride. ‘Yes, missus,’ he said. ‘’E’s a real quick learner.’
‘Like somebody else I could mention,’ said Romily with a smile. ‘Did you deliver those Christmas cards that I left on the hall table before I went to London?
‘Me and Bobby did them this afternoon, just as you asked. And Miss Gant and Miss Treadmill gave me some eggs for you as a Christmas present.’
‘That was generous of them.’
Stanley smiled. ‘D’yer wanna ’ear a joke Miss Treadmill told me?’
‘Certainly I do,’ said Romily, amused at the mischievous expression on the boy’s face.
‘What did ’Itler say when a bomb dropped on the roof of ’is ’ouse and he fell through the bed?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Romily, exchanging a look with Hope and Florence ‘What did he say?’
The boy sniggered. ‘Now I’m in Po-land!’
Florence tutted and cuffed him lightly round the head. ‘Stanley Nettles, how dare you tell such a rude joke!’
‘It can’t be that rude if Miss Treadmill told it me,’ he remonstrated.
‘That’s all right,’ said Romily with a laugh. ‘I’ve heard worse. Far worse. Now Florence, it’s time you went and chatted to that young man of yours; he’s waited quite long enough. And Stanley, perhaps you’d like to take Annelise to Mrs Partridge, who I’m sure is champing at the bit to see her again.’ She quickly checked herself. ‘If that’s all right with you, Hope?’
‘Of course it is,’ Hope replied without a hint of the hostility that had characterised their first encounters back in August. ‘In fact I’m eager to see Mrs Partridge again myself. I’ve missed her cooking.’
At Winter Cottage, on the other side of Clover Wood, Allegra was waiting anxiously for the sound of footsteps on the path.
For the last hour she had been unable to sit still for more than five minutes without going to the window that overlooked the small front garden. The afternoon light was fading now, the day shrouded in a misty gloom, and as she moved away from the window to add another log to the fire, she felt the baby give a wriggle of movement inside her.
Sometimes the child moved with such energy, Allegra would swear that it had ambitions to be a dancer like her own mother. On this occasion, however, the movement was no more than a slight shifting, as if the baby had briefly woken from a deep sleep and was trying to get comfortable again.
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With all her being Allegra hoped and prayed it would be a girl; she didn’t want a boy who might remind her too much of Luigi. She felt she could love a girl more than a boy. At night when she couldn’t sleep, she would sing a lullaby to the baby – her piccolina, as she thought of her. It was the ninna nanna that Sister Maria used to sing to the babies at the orphanage, and which in turn Allegra had learnt to sing to the little ones when she was old enough. ‘Fate la Nanna Coscine di Pollo’ was the only song she had allowed herself to sing since leaving Venice. It had come so naturally to her, without even thinking about it, yet she hadn’t dared to explore her voice further for fear of discovering she had lost her full range and power.
Although what did it matter whether she had or not? She was never going to sing again, not on a stage. Her professional career was over. All those dreams of singing at La Scala in Milan, and all the other prestigious opera houses around the world, seemed so ridiculous now. She had never been good enough to be a truly great singer. But it was only now her life had changed so dramatically that she had the perspective – and the courage – to admit that her talent had not measured up to her ambition.
What was important to her now was being the best mother she could possibly be. She had another three months to go before the baby would be born, and it was beyond her to imagine how much bigger she could become; as it was, she felt as enormous as a whale, and about as ugly.
Whenever she wished that March was here already, and the waiting was over, she would worry just how she would manage. She had seen the effect Annelise had had on Hope, how exhausted and overwhelmed she had been, and she dreaded the same happening to her. Romily had assured her that just as Hope didn’t need to face the challenges of motherhood alone, Allegra didn’t either.
