by Lizzie Lane
‘Of course I do.’
Ivan’s features were hard as stone. He explained something in Polish to the others, his eyes never leaving the face of the foreman.
Sensing he was being criticized, the foreman’s face turned angry. ‘They can stop talkin’ in that foreign chatter round ’ere. I’m not ’aving it. Tell them that.’
Charlotte spun on him. Her manner was clipped. ‘I’ll tell them no such thing. This is a free country and they’re quite entitled to use whatever language they like.’
‘Not ’ere they ain’t!’
‘Be careful what you are saying, Mr Pratley, or you won’t be getting any cheap labour from us at all.’ Her tone was frosty.
‘We pay them well!’
Charlotte put on her most superior manner, sniffed and turned away. ‘That’s not what I hear. However, we cannot dispute your claim that they have to go through a training period first.’
‘Of course they do!’ Pratley shouted. ‘They get full pay once they’ve done that.’
‘Then I hope it won’t be too long,’ Charlotte responded, her eyes blazing. ‘I’m not here to argue. They want work. You want labour. That’s all that matters.’
‘I am not working for him!’ growled Ivan.
The others looked from one to another, exchanged excited comments in Polish, then looked to Ivan and said something.
‘I am not staying,’ he said. ‘The others are not so sure. They do not wish to upset anyone.’
The foreman waved one brawny arm, an aggressive gesture that failed to impress because anyone watching could see there was fear in his eyes. ‘Tell them they can either start now or get out!’
Ivan flung his arm up dismissively, spat on the ground and walked away. Charlotte, not understanding quite what was going on, ran after him. She found him leaning on her car breathing deeply and frowning savagely.
Now it was her turn to be angry. ‘What do you think you are playing at? Have you no gratitude for what we are trying to do for you?’
He faced her quickly, his eyes narrowing. ‘To you personally, yes! As a country, no!’
Charlotte took a deep breath. She did not understand, but had no intention of failing in her efforts to see these men settled. ‘Look! Stay here and calm down. I’ll go back and see what the others want to do.’
‘They will stay and work. They are new to this country. It is their first job.’
She went back to find out anyway. Sure enough, Ivan was right.
‘We stay,’ said the one with the crumpled face who had taken his cap from his head and was twisting it nervously, his eyes darting from her to the gross features and piggy eyes of the foreman. The man who couldn’t speak English merely nodded. He too had taken his cap off.
The foreman took a watch from his waistcoat pocket, flicked it open and studied the time. ‘Well, I can’t bloody wait around for your other bloke. He’s your responsibility. I’ve got work to do.’
Charlotte thought about the watch. Surely Ivan wasn’t adverse to such a British show of ostentation? The foreman held one side of his coat open as he slid the watch back in its rightful place. Something shone in his lapel. Charlotte narrowed her eyes. It was a badge, nothing more than a red star. She thought she knew what it signified, but couldn’t be sure.
Once she’d sorted out bus times with the two men who’d decided to stay she said her goodbyes. They were on their own now – except of course that regular reports would be sent to the Home Office on their behaviour and they had to carry their Alien Book around at all times.
When she got outside Ivan was still leaning over the car, hands clenched tightly together, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Outwardly businesslike, but inwardly apprehensive, she opened the driver’s side door. She would most certainly be getting to the bottom of this.
‘Get in!’
Ivan did as ordered.
He was waiting for her to say something and she was certainly aching to do so. It finally burst out when her grip on the wheel could get no tighter.
‘You have to have a job!’
‘I know.’ He didn’t even blink. His voice was steady.
Charlotte moderated her tone. She refused to be angry. ‘You cannot stay in this country if you do not get one.’
‘I know that too.’
He sounded as though his anger was being reined in but, like a wilful horse, fighting it all the way. If she was ever to help this man she had to gain his confidence and quickly. She wasn’t that familiar with the road so had to concentrate. Miraculously a tractor pulled out of a field and ambled along in front of them. She changed down a gear or two, sighed and softened her voice. ‘I saw the red star. I know what it means.’
‘No, you do not!’
His clipped tone surprised her. Had she sounded condescending? She thought not, but took advantage of their slow speed to glance at his face. Anger still furrowed his brow. Well she wasn’t stupid and she’d most certainly let him know that.
‘Yes, I do know the red star means he’s a member of the Communist party. But it hardly matters—’
He cut in. ‘Did you know that Truman and Churchill handed Poland on a plate to Stalin after the war? Did you know that some of those who had worked for the Resistance and then taken jobs with the US or British army were coached off back to Poland whether they wanted to go or not?’
‘Well, I didn’t really …’ Charlotte found herself blustering. She hated pleading ignorance, but couldn’t help defending her own country. ‘But that was yesterday, and tomorrow is—’
‘They never got home!’
‘Don’t bloody shout at me!’
His mouth dropped open. She didn’t look the sort to shout like a fishwife or use the language of a docker. But Charlotte hated being shouted at. David had done a lot of shouting – as well as physical abuse – when he’d first come back from the war. She’d accepted it back then with fortitude, but she would not accept it now.
‘I am very sorry.’
‘That’s all right.’ She didn’t want to hear the details about what had happened to Ivan prior to his arrival in Britain. One man with nightmarish memories was plenty enough to cope with.
Silently they drove to the police station, which boasted the Miners’ Institute and a village pub as neighbours. The sun was getting stronger and a heat haze shimmered further up the hill. There was a smell of coal tar as the road started to bake and melt into a black goo that streamed into the gutter.
Charlotte patted her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Surprising how cotton gloves retained their coolness despite summer heat. Her brow was warm too. She pushed a little damp hair back onto her head and sighed.
Her nylons crackled with electricity as she got out of the car. The heels of her court shoes tapped sharply on the pavement and the wide swirl of her calf-length skirt hung limp in the heat.
The police station smelt of old fry-ups and well-stewed tea. Charlotte wrinkled her nose as she pulled the glove off her right hand and passed it into her left. A uniformed sergeant peered out at them through a square window, the sort normally seen in countryside railway stations where the employees spend more time tending the flowerbeds than dealing with trains. She almost felt like asking for a return fare to Paddington, but the sergeant didn’t look the sort to take a joke. The Alien Registration Cards were to be stamped for the two who had remained at the mine. Before handing them over she noted the details. Ivan was right. These two had only just arrived.
‘More Poles?’ The police sergeant eyed the cards and turned a critical gaze over Charlotte, then Ivan who had followed her into the station. His tone was surly. ‘We’ll be overrun by ’em before very long, coming over ’ere, taking our jobs, taking our women.’
The last comment was obviously aimed at her. He looked her up and down as though she were one of those whose blood ran too hot to resist the overtures of Johnny Foreigner.
Charlotte snatched the cards from him and put her glove back on. ‘We need them to rebui
ld this country! Just as we needed them to fight the enemy during the war.’
The sergeant was having none of it. With a loud thump he stamped the documents as if he were crushing a series of flies.
Slam! A wooden shutter came down.
‘Well!’ Charlotte was not the sort to leave things like that. Fists clothed in white cotton gloves pummelled the closed shutter. ‘I shall be back, sergeant. And I shall report you! Indeed I shall, my good man!’
A hand fell on her arm. ‘Lady!’ Ivan was looking at her with a mix of confusion and surprise. ‘He is not a man. He is a uniform. Men change once they put on a uniform.’
Charlotte came to her senses and pressed her palm against her brow. Her skin was damp and hot. ‘This is unforgivable.’
‘He is not worth forgiving.’
Charlotte shook her head and took very deep breaths. Ivan had misunderstood. It was losing self-control that was unforgivable. ‘Wait outside for me, will you?’
He looked as if he was going to protest.
She assumed a more authoritative air. ‘Please! Wait outside for me.’
He did as she requested and left her alone there in the shabby waiting room where the sun tried to shine through dusty windows and brighten the brown walls and sludge-coloured linoleum.
Alone there in the gloom she almost wanted to cry. What was she going to do about Ivan? He had to have somewhere to live and he had to get a job.
Colin! He’d said he would help.
Just before leaving the building she studied the work details on Ivan’s Alien Registration Card. Perhaps there was something there that might show the way. She studied it carefully. This was by no means his first job. His last one, in fact, had been as a waiter and had ended in June. No reason was given. So what had possessed a waiter, however menial the job, to leave the comfortable surroundings of a hotel or restaurant and go to work in a mine? Surely he was worth something more? Her thoughts returned to her conversation with Colin and Edna on the day they’d gone to see the crown.
‘Are you good with your hands?’ she asked him once she was back behind the wheel of the car.
He looked at her coldly. She guessed he was still thinking about the man at the mine. ‘I was training to be an engineer back in Poland.’
‘But you don’t want to be a miner.’
‘I will do what I have to do.’
‘How do you feel about making children’s toys?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer straight away. She felt his eyes looking at her as she started the car and pulled away. ‘It’s for a friend of mine,’ she added in the hope that might sway his decision and get her out of a jam. Heaven knows what she’d do with him otherwise. No landlady would take a guest that didn’t have a job.
‘What is he like?’
‘He’s a war veteran.’
Ivan relaxed.
Charlotte explained things precisely so there’d be no question of him not understanding. ‘If he agrees to employ you, then I’ll find you somewhere else to stay. Pensford is far too great a distance to travel.’
‘Why did you leave your last job?’ she asked.
‘I upset a customer,’ he replied.
She glanced at the clear-cut profile of the man sitting beside her. Ivan reminded her of someone else who’d once been far from home. Josef was rebuilding lives now back in Germany, similar to herself. It occurred to her suddenly that she did not risk any discomfort in what she did. Perhaps it was time that changed. The house in Clifton was large and there were two spare bedrooms in the attic. They had plenty of room. Surely David wouldn’t mind?
‘We’ll drive to Brent Cottage right now and return your friends’ documentation to Mrs Stanley. I’ll explain to her that you’re not staying because the mine does not want you. I think I may have a job for you. It’s in the city not the countryside.’ The rest of the idea she had in her mind gushed out unabated. ‘I think I can offer you a room. My house is certainly big enough.’
He looked surprised rather than relieved, but who could blame him? The poor man had been shuffled around from one place to another since arriving here, dealing with armies of officials and well-meaning people imposing their own personal brands of helpfulness.
‘Things will all be sorted out,’ she said brightly and truly believed it. Soon the hedgerows were left behind and suburban semis replaced roadside cottages, then rows of shops, through the city and up Park Street to Clifton and home.
Ivan crunched over the gravel behind her to the front door of the elegant Georgian house in Royal York Crescent. Judging by the gleam of the brass letterbox and knocker someone was home and had just finished polishing.
The drone of the vacuum cleaner greeted them as they entered the house. Charlotte smiled. Polly was here and her favourite domestic appliance was out of the cupboard and scooting along the landing. Today was Edna’s visiting day. She’d be along later. Hopefully Colin would be with her. He did come sometimes if he could get time off from making rocking horses, scooters and wooden trains with bright red paintwork and whistles that really tooted.
Ivan stood quietly, his gaze travelling the dark cream walls, the curving sweep of the staircase. Charlotte almost felt as if she should apologize for living in such luxury compared to the lodgings he’d been used to.
She showed him into the drawing room. ‘Make yourself comfortable while I make tea.’
Edna and Colin arrived just as she was crossing the hall.
‘I’ve got something to ask you,’ she said to Colin, taking hold of his arm as if he might try to escape.
‘Oh yes?’ he said with mock wariness, tipping the wink to a grinning Edna. “What have you got planned for me now?’
Taking the opportunity of a lull in the vacuuming, Charlotte shouted for Polly to come down, then fetched the tea tray and followed Colin and Edna into the drawing room.
Charlotte introduced Ivan. At the same time she gave Colin a conspiratory look. ‘You remember when we went to see the Coronation crown?’
Face bright as a button, Colin walked stiffly across the room and held out his hand to Ivan. ‘She means do I remember her asking me to give one of you lot a job,’ he said with a wink. ‘We can but try, can’t we, mate? We can but try.’
Charlotte decided that the two men were best left alone together. ‘I’ll get more tea,’ she said. ‘And I expect Pamela would like a biscuit. I’ve got some iced ones in the kitchen.’
Edna followed her out, Pamela in her arms.
The cream kitchen was made more yellow by the bright sunshine of a late afternoon streaming through the sash windows, the top halves of which were open. Smells of warm foliage and baking earth eased through. So did the lazy sound of bees buzzing and children playing in a garden three or four doors down.
Polly dragged herself away from her work and joined them. She put the kettle on, Charlotte got out more crockery and set it on a tray, then slid the biscuit barrel in Edna’s direction.
‘Sounds like a sensible arrangement,’ Polly said once Charlotte had explained things.
Edna sat subdued, her attention apparently fixed on Pamela who was making a mess with a soggy custard cream. Her thoughts were of Janet. Ivan was nice, and although his accent wasn’t that strong, it was there and Janet was bound to notice. She had to say something.
‘What about Janet?’ It sounded so feeble and she couldn’t stop her face from burning with sudden embarrassment.
Charlotte did not appear to notice her discomfort. ‘This house is much too big for just us. It really needs filling up. Janet, I am sure, will understand that.’
Edna persisted. ‘She might feel uncomfortable having a strange man in the house.’
As if to emphasize the potential threat, the strong sunlight disappeared, blanked out by gathering clouds. The kitchen darkened and a rumble of thunder sounded like the first murmurings of a hungry stomach.
Polly tutted in response to Edna’s comment. ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’
Edna pri
ckled. ‘She’s not a child!’
Both Polly and Charlotte were taken aback. They eyed her as if they were seeing her in a new light, the strength and possible anger beneath the soft exterior. For one ghastly moment she was almost tempted to tell Charlotte why her good intentions might very well backfire. But she couldn’t. She’d made a promise she would not tell. Janet would have to deal with it herself.
Charlotte was pouring dark sweet sherries into crystal glasses when Janet got home. Polly had gone, but Edna and Colin had stayed.
‘Darling,’ she said, decanter in one hand and Ivan’s glass in the other, ‘do come and meet our new houseguest. He’ll be staying in the attic for the time being until he can get a place of his own.’
‘Really?’ Completely unsuspecting, Janet stretched out her hand and smiled at the broad-shouldered young man with the fine features who looked smart on first inspection, though on second look his shirt cuffs were frayed and his suit smelt of mothballs. A young doctor in need of assistance, perhaps? His face certainly looked familiar.
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m going to presume you’re studying medicine. Am I right?’
To her great surprise he bowed slightly and clicked his heels together. ‘Miss Janet. No. I am not.’ He spoke very precisely, almost to the extent of being overly curt.
She had a strong urge to back away from him, but forced herself to stay. ‘Have we met somewhere before?’
His eyes were grey and striking, as if an artist had outlined them with a graphite pencil.
His smile was slow, almost secretive. ‘I do believe so, but you would not perhaps remember. My name is Ivan Bronowsky.’
Her smile chilled at the sound of his voice.
‘Ivan is from Poland,’ her mother explained.
‘Really?’ Janet felt the blood draining from her face. Her mother, her own mother, had brought a foreigner into the house. How could she? How could she?
‘I’m sure we’ll all get on famously,’ said Charlotte, a picture of self-assurance in a soft shade of jade with a rope of pearls at her throat.
Janet controlled the urge to take flight, lock herself behind her bedroom door and not come out until this man was gone. But he wouldn’t be going, she reminded herself, and she wasn’t at all sure how to deal with it.
