‘I believe I am still entitled to refuse to serve troublemakers in my own bar.’
Sara stifled a sigh. ‘Let’s wait and see if they are troublemakers first, before you start banning them.’
It was rare for her to criticise him, or even disagree, since she’d discovered the fruitlessness of this exercise quite early on in their marriage. He was a man with firmly fixed views and generally found a means to have his own way in most things.
‘Put the takings in the safe will you, while I give the bar a quick wipe over, Then we’re done for now.’ She smiled, to soften the fact that she’d given him an instruction but he briskly responded that he’d been about to do just that, and would she please hurry up.
Sara had been little more than eighteen when she’d married Hugh Marrack, flattered by his interest and charmed by his maturity and good looks. He rowed on the gigs, sailed, swam, was athletic and strong, a risk taker and, at thirty, had seemed like a god to her. She had loved his tall leanness, that shock of blonde hair he would sweep back from a high forehead with the flick of one hand; the classically straight nose, the blue-grey eyes and the way they would gaze at her in a slightly perplexed fashion, as if not quite able to believe his good fortune. She’d adored his patient, old fashioned courtship of her, and had been impressed by the good solid future that he’d planned for them by taking on the management of the inn.
She’d become pregnant with Jenny within months of their marriage, quickly followed by Drew. Two children was enough, Hugh had decided, and there’d been no more since.
Some of the fizz had gone out of their sex life as a result, certainly so far as Sara was concerned. Hugh too seemed less interested, since he instigated love making less often these days, which she thought rather sad. But then they both worked long hours and if sometimes she felt a tinge of disappointment with her lot, that she’d perhaps been a mite hasty in marrying so young, and that life hadn’t turned out quite as she’d hoped, Sara blamed herself for having too many romantic notions.
Or she blamed the war, which had dominated their lives for so long and seemed to go on for ever. But what could she do about that? Nothing, except endure, like everyone else.
Hugh was a member of the lifeboat crew, and also carried responsibilities with regard to the coastguard service, so was very often unavailable when there was work to be done. Even when he wasn’t out on training and doing ‘his missions’ as he liked to call them, he was busy with paperwork in the little office up in the eaves. His time, he told her, was far too important to waste on mundane tasks, which she supposed was true.
So here she was, seven years later, still only in her mid-twenties, minding her children, feeding her husband and doing a hundred and one jobs each and every day. She served behind the bar, baked the pasties, did the cleaning, the endless washing and ironing, as well as catering for occasional bed and breakfast guests. Sara even cleaned out the beer pipes, as she’d done this morning, although not very well.
Not that she ever complained. Hugh was a very private man, liable to sulks and dark moods if she should ever object to the workload or claim that he was neglecting her.
And he was a good husband in other ways, caring and solicitous, perhaps too much so at times, almost suffocating. Sara frowned as she wiped down the bar counter, filled with a rush of guilt for viewing his assiduous attention in such a light.
Perhaps she craved a little too much freedom. Maybe the fault was hers. After all, as he repeatedly informed her, he always had her best interests at heart.
As he was telling her now.
‘You’ve got that glazed expression in your eyes again, Sara. I do hope you’re paying attention. I can’t stand about here all day explaining things your own commonsense should tell you. I have more serious work to do. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Hugh. Of course, darling.’
She saw him soften, as he so often did when she addressed him thus. He came to her then and slid an arm about her slender waist. ‘My God, no wonder I’m jealous of anyone else coming near you. Have you any idea how ravishing you look with that silver haze of soft curls framing your enchanting little face, and those large, adorable green eyes.’
Sara giggled. ‘Don’t exaggerate, they’re more grey than green, and my hair is a mess.’
He slid one hand down the length of her thigh and, pulling up her skirt, slid it between her legs to fondle her possessively. She pushed him gently away, laughing as she half glanced over her shoulder to the windows that looked out over the street. ‘Be careful, someone might see. If Nora Snell walks by, she’ll have a heart attack.’
‘We could slip upstairs for half an hour.’
Chuckling softly, she dismissed his optimism with a kiss on his nose, then turned away to search for her purse. ‘I have to go and collect the children, and they’ll be bursting to tell you all about their exciting day so do try to be patient with them.’
‘Make them damn well wait for once. I’d forgotten how much I fancy you,’ he said, his voice urgent now, thickening with need. He pushed her back against the bar but Sara easily evaded his grasp.
‘It’s good to know that you do still fancy me, but I really don’t have time right now.’
The smile instantly faded and his tone turned peevish, like a spoiled child deprived of a treat. ‘You never do have time these days, or else you complain you’re too tired.’
She was stung by the accusation, which Sara felt to be largely unjust. Hugh seemed to avoid intimacy far more than she did. ‘I’m sorry if you think so, but I do work hard, Hugh.’
‘Is that some sort of dig at me?’
‘No, of course it isn’t. We both work hard,’ she added hastily. ‘Perhaps we should both try harder to inject some romance back into our marriage.’
‘You’re saying I don’t do enough in that direction, are you? You want me to bring you flowers every day?’
‘No, no, of course I don’t. Look, this is a stupid argument. I was simply agreeing with you that we should find more time for each other, for romance.’
‘Did you see someone you fancied on those trucks then?’
Sara shook her head at him in a gesture of despair, even as she felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Oh, silly is it, to want to protect my wife from those louts? I’ve told you, Sara, I’m not having those Yanks in The Ship.’
She was already on her way through the back door that led out onto the church path. ‘Look, I must go. We can talk about this some other time and perhaps later I will be able to convince you that there is no other man for me but you, my lovely husband.’ Blowing him a kiss, she hurried away, still smiling. Hugh remained where he was, scowling at the closed door.
The Yanks came in their dozens, noisy and happy, raucous and loud, complaining about the beer, the accommodation they’d been allotted, the black-out, even the food, and Hugh was helpless to stop them. He could do little to prevent them leaning on his bar and ordering service, not without creating a scene which could easily turn nasty.
Hugh kept a close eye on them, scowling while they happily played darts or dominoes, joked and teased each other in big loud voices, chewed their gum and even burst into song now and then. They’d call a pack of cards a deck, demand checkers when they wanted to play draughts, and ask for potato chips when really they meant crisps.
And they constantly chatted to his lovely wife. They told her how pretty she was, asked if she’d care for a stroll by the river later, if she was free for dinner tomorrow, if she liked sailing by moonlight. Sara laughingly countered all offers but after a while, unable to bear it any longer, Hugh ordered her upstairs.
‘Go to bed, Sara, I can manage.’
‘How can you manage? The place is heaving. What will it be, sir? Well, if you don’t care for the beer, have you tried our local cider?’
‘I’d fancy a bourbon but you ain’t gonna have such a thing, right?’
‘Sorry, there is a war on, you know. I could let you have a
small shot of Irish whiskey, which we happened to come by the other day. Only a small one, mind, and expensive.’
Hugh snatched the bottle from her grasp. ‘Go on, get upstairs. I’ll deal with this lot.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Sara hissed at him under her breath. ‘You need me here.’ She’d been half thankful, half regretful that the young officer who had almost knocked her down had not made an appearance, although she’d kept an eye out for him all evening.
‘Upstairs. Now!’
Sara recognised the tone as one which must be obeyed. To defy him would put him in a sulk for days, make him more peevish and bossier than ever. He used to take out his ill temper on poor Valda, his long-suffering mother but since she’d passed away a couple of years ago, it was Sara who now suffered the brunt of his moods. Sighing softly, she slid quietly out from behind the bar and reluctantly pushed her way through the crowd.
‘Hey, you ain’t leaving us, are you, babe?’
‘I must go and check on my children,’ Sara excused herself with a smiling apology.
One young man pulled her into his arms. ‘Say you’ll be back, honey, or I’ll die on the spot from a broken heart.’
She couldn’t help but giggle at the outrageousness of their flirting. These boys were such fun. She slapped playfully at the GI, urging him to let her go. ‘Behave yourself, I’m a respectable married woman.’
‘Now that’s a big disappointment, cos I sure do like the other sort better.’
Seeing Hugh’s glowering expression darken even further, Sara prised herself free and escaped. She could see that life wasn’t going to be easy with these newcomers around.
As well as the marines, the place was humming with local girls, all of whom had been tempted in to meet these demi-gods at closer quarters, these Government Issue as the Americans had dubbed them.
Bette hadn’t shown her face in the bar all evening, but then she already had a date, didn’t she?
Oh dear, Sara thought as she made her way up the stairs to their private quarters on the top floor, leaving her husband to cope with the chaos alone, this long anticipated ‘friendly invasion’ was going to create havoc, not only to the town but to their own little world within it. That much was obvious already.
Chapter Three
Bette Tredinnick was only too aware that she had the kind of looks that would turn any man’s head. She brightened her mouse brown curls with just a touch of henna and, as she said herself, if Sara was silver fair, her own charms were pure gold. She was also quite proud of her eyes, which some might call hazel but Bette described as a translucent green shot with flecks of gold. Add to that a small nose, prettily pointed chin and a mouth which lifted easily into an impishly tilted smile, not forgetting a petite and shapely figure, Bette held no illusions about her charms. She was a stunner, didn’t everyone tell her so?
She’d certainly never had any difficulty in attracting the local boys, uncouth as most of them were, although much of the time she didn’t even bother as they really weren’t worth the effort. Love them and leave them, that was Bette’s motto.
She dreamed of escape from the suffocation of small town living, of meeting someone handsome, rich and romantic who would whisk her away to a new, exciting life. She constantly kept a look out for new arrivals from the yachts and other craft which occasionally came up river; Londoners mostly, seeking respite from the war, retreating to their holiday cottages in Polruan or Bodinnick and lived in hope that one day Mr Right would be on board one of them.
There was no sign of him so far, but how could there be when all decent young men were serving their country?
Besides, the trickle of escapees from the city had dried up long since and she was left with the likes of Tommy Kinver, too young and far too stupid to be allowed to fight. Or Dan Roskelly who worked on the docks and wouldn’t leave her alone for a minute, pest that he was.
The thought made her grimace as she tucked a stray curl in place and smoothed down the short skirt of her best frock, a leaf green crêpe-de-chine with a daring V-neck. Bette rather approved of utility fashions which fitted close to her neat figure and allowed her to show off her shapely calves.
‘And where do you think you’re going, all dolled up like a dog’s dinner?’ Sadie stood, hands on hips, regarding her younger daughter preening herself before the living room mirror with something approaching envy. Daughters were the very devil and she’d had two to blight her life. Both had been blessed with good looks, not surprisingly, since she’d been a stunner herself in her day, but somehow it was hard to adjust to the fact that her own beauty was beginning to fade just as both daughters were blooming. ‘Up to no good, I’ll be bound?’
‘Why do you always think the worst of me, Mam? I’ve told you a million times, I won’t be put upon by anyone, nor be so accommodating and trusting as soft Sara, fool that she is doing everything that domineering husband of hers tells her. Jump off the headland, she would, if he told her to.’
‘Don’t you speak ill of your sister and that fine man she married. You should be so lucky, miss.’ Fortunately, she’d managed to marry Sara off quite young, and she’d married well. Quite a catch was Hugh Marrack, but this little madam was another matter.
Cory, Sadie’s ever patient husband, ambled over and, as he reached for his windcheater from behind the door with one hand, chucked Bette under the chin with the other. ‘How’s my little maid? You off out for a good time? Proper job.’
‘Don’t you take her side,’ Sadie retorted, turning on him fiercely and wagging a finger in his round, placid face.
‘Why not? Someone has to,’ he said in his gentle Cornish burr. ‘Now, don’t you get in a lather, me handsome, does no good at all. Our Bette is a good little bird. Her won’t do nothing wrong, I’m sure.’
‘I wish I could share your confidence. She took hours off work today, just to ogle those boys, and now she’s got a date with one, a perfect stranger I’ll have you know.’ It occurred to Sadie that, as usual, Cory wasn’t paying her the slightest attention or listening to a word she said, being thoroughly absorbed finding his pipe and pouch and matches. ‘And where might you be off to then, playing on the river with your cronies, is it?’
‘We’m off on our patrol, as we allus are, doing our duty to make sure them Germans don’t slip in shore when our back is turned.’
‘God help Cornwall, if her defence depends upon the likes of you and Hamil Charke.’
‘There’s others on board besides me and Hamil, the whole blame crew of us, led by Scobey as you do know, my lover.’
Sadie let out a snort which amply expressed her opinion of Scobey Snell as leader of this lively band. ‘Nora was swanking about him today when she came in to have her hair permed, talking a lot of nonsense about how he was a born sailor and used to climb the rigging like a cat when he was a lad working on the Hockens boats. Scobey’s never been to Australia in his life, I told her, and he wouldn’t know how to furl sails if you paid him. Hasn’t got a brain bigger’n a pea, and would be a liability on any boat. She wasn’t best pleased with my opinion, said as how he’d done his stint already for Kitcheners army, and I’d no right to criticise.’
‘Well, she do have a point,’ commented Cory in his mildest tones, tucking the ends of his scarf into his windcheater. ‘He might be getting on, as are we all, but he’s still handy with his fist. Box the ears of any Gerry stupid enough to try and land on these shores. And he don’t miss much, don’t Scobey, even if he is cross-eyed.’
Bette stifled a giggle and tried to squeeze past her mother’s ample form to reach the kitchen, too accustomed to this bandying of words between her parents to take it too seriously. ‘Want a cuppa, Dad, before you go? Or I could make you up a thermos to take with you.’
‘Warm the cockles nicely that would. Gets cold out on the water at night, it do.’
‘Mam?’
Sadie tightened her lips and shook her head fiercely, even though her throat was dry as a bone. ‘I’m warning you, madam
, if you bring shame on this house, I’ll . . .’
‘Aw, put the plug in, Sadie,’ Cory groaned, reaching the end of his patience at last. ‘She’m happy as a duck, so let her be, why don’t you? You and me had us bit of fun too, in our day.’
Sadie flushed scarlet. ‘Are you accusing me of being a woman of easy virtue, because if you are, Cory Tredinnick, I’ll . . .’
‘No, course I’m not. You’re getting in a proper boil over this nonsense. I’m only trying to say as how she ain’t likely to get into no trouble, so far as I can see, so long as her keeps her wits about her.’
‘Well, you tell her how to do that then. She might listen to you. Tell her what they’re after, these soldiers.’
Cory sighed, then addressed his daughter with a deeply apologetic expression on his kindly face, as if regretting that he must carry out this unpleasant duty. ‘Now you do listen to your ma and keep yourself pure, girl, if’n you tek my meaning? And don’t you go believing everything you’re told by these GI blokes. Promises are as easy broken as a pie crust, and a pretty little maid like yourself do need to bear that in mind.’
Bette went and kissed him on his plump, soft cheek, assuring her father that she understood everything he was telling her. She tried to do the same with Sadie, but her mother turned her face away at the last moment.
If there was one thing Sadie hated, it was to hear Cory call either of his daughters pretty. It might well be true, but, in her opinion, it did no good at all to flatter them by telling them so, and this little madam was vain enough already. Apart from which, it might make her feel better if, just occasionally, her husband noticed that she was still a handsome woman herself, and paid her more attention. He might call her ‘my handsome’ in that typically Cornish way of his, but the words were meaningless. Sadie was bleakly aware that she’d put on weight during the long years of her marriage and that her once lovely face was weathered and wrinkled; that both her daughters now left her standing in the beauty stakes. And she hated them for it.
For All Our Tomorrows Page 2
