‘I already have. While you were lying here snoring.’
‘I don’t snore.’
‘They’re fabulous, Charlie. You’re very clever. Especially how you’ve managed to make two individual cottages out of the one. Have to say, I don’t fancy living with you if you’re going to snore like you just were doing.’
‘I don’t snore. I was actually in the throes of a very rampant dream.’
‘Oh? Who with? I keep having fantasies about Seb Henderson. That is one gorgeous man. I wonder what his dad’s like? I’ve always fancied having an older man.’
‘Well, if Seb is our age, David Henderson must be in his fifties.’ I grimaced at the thought. ‘Forget it.’ I put a tentative foot out of the duvet. ‘Why is this house so damned cold?’
‘Victorian, draughty, Dad economising. Always been the same.’ Daisy shrugged her shoulders, encased in several layers of woollen sweaters. ‘Right, get up now, come and have breakfast or I’m taking the car myself and you’ll have to get Dad to drive you over. You know he won’t let you take his car yourself in case he’s called out to some cow or sheep.’
*
‘It’s a red coat Madge said she was after. I can’t see it, can you?’ I was thumbing through a whole plethora of coats hanging up in the utility while Daisy turned on the water and electricity and the bungalow slowly creaked back into life.
‘Hang on, I’ll come and help in a minute. I’m going to tell Madge she should keep the water and the heat running now. If we have a sudden cold snap she could end up with frozen pipes. She needs to keep the place warm and aired for when she gets out.’
‘Sounds like she’s in prison,’ I laughed.
‘Might as well be,’ Daisy shuddered. ‘Shall you and I make a pact?’
‘A pact? What sort of pact? I remember your pacts from years ago – you never kept one of them.’ I looked up from the pile of coats now on the floor – some must have been decades old – and glanced through the open utility door towards Daisy, who was filling the kettle at the kitchen sink.
‘Whichever one of us becomes doolally first has to be looked after by the other so that the one who is losing her marbles doesn’t end up in Almost Heaven making macramé egg warmers and boring the pants off their children – if we ever have any – going on about their past lovers.’ Daisy gave me a meaningful look.
‘Are you suggesting I’m already going on about past lovers?’
‘You? Going on and on about wanker Dominic? Would I dare suggest that?’
I glared at her. ‘No way am I having you look after me. As the oldest, I’ll probably lose it first and you wouldn’t look after me. ‘You’d dump me in Almost Heaven and run off with my cashmere sweaters. I really can’t see any red coat even though Madge was convinced it was hanging up in here. This bungalow needs a huge clear out, you know. I wonder if Madge would like me to do that for her while you’re tackling the garden?’
‘Dunno. I wouldn’t like anyone going through my things. But I suppose you could go and look in her wardrobe?’
I started hanging the coats, macs and hats back up on their pegs. ‘Half of this stuff needs to go. I’ll have a quick look in Madge’s bedroom and see if I can find it.’
I walked across the hallway and into Madge’s bedroom. All was neat and tidy, the bed made up, the few ornaments arranged symmetrically on the dressing table and the chintzy curtains standing almost regimentally to attention in their pink tie-backs. There was a whole bank of built in wardrobes running along the back wall but, as I tried the first door, I realised it was locked. Where was the key? It didn’t appear to be in any of the other wardrobe doors. I could see I was going to have to ring Almast Haven and ask Madge. I looked along the dressing table where a glass tray held myriad earrings, lipsticks and perfume, but no wardrobe key. I didn’t like to open Madge’s bedside cabinet drawers, but quickly did so in the hope she’d secreted a key in one of them. In the drawer of the cabinet on the right side of the bed was a large shortbread tin, a rather jolly pair of black scotty dogs in tartan coats grinning up at me from the lid. Determined to find the key, I quickly took out the tin, placed it on the bed and took off the lid. Ah-ha. Several keys. I picked what appeared to be the most modern and immediately fitted it successfully into the lock and turned. As soon as I opened the first double door I saw what must be the red coat. It was cashmere and wool, a Max Mara full-length design, and I could see why Madge would be eager to have it with her in the home. There was a slight whiff of mothballs – what is it with old people and moths? A lingering smell of Opium, the perfume Madge had first used in the early eighties and continued to use ever since, was fighting a losing battle with the moth stuff.
The coat was beautiful but not my style. I locked the wardrobe back up and made to replace both the key and the tin when my eye was caught by a small black-and-white photograph and a metal badge.
‘Charlie, you shouldn’t be going through Madge’s things.’ I started guiltily as Daisy appeared at my side.
‘I wasn’t going through her things,’ I said crossly. ‘I needed to find the key to the wardrobe and I did.’
‘I never knew Great-granddad Arthur was such an attractive man.’ Daisy picked up the photo. ‘Wow, look at him. He’s a bit like a blond Seb Henderson.’
‘Will you shut up about Seb Henderson?’ I tutted, peering over Daisy’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, you’re right, though; he’s gorgeous. Hang on, that’s not Arthur. You’ve seen Madge’s wedding photo – it’s in the sitting room.’ I turned the photo over and read:
To my darling, darling Midge. Yours forever, James X
‘He must have been a boyfriend of Madge’s. Has he spelled her name wrongly or was it his pet name for her, do you think?’ Daisy peered more closely at the photo.
‘Look at those dark eyes with that fair hair. Quite a combination. Look, this must be Arthur’s badge from the war.’ She lifted the gold and blue enamel badge from the tin. ‘Bomber Command Royal Air Force. Strike Hard Strike Sure.’ Daisy read the words from the badge, tracing the raised letters with a finger.
‘I don’t think it can be Arthur’s.’ I frowned, placing the badge back in the tin with the photo. ‘I don’t think he ever flew: he was a grease monkey, making sure the bombers were fit to fly.’
‘Ask Madge when you take the coat. Ask her who James was.’
‘But then I’d have to admit going through her drawers.’
‘I really don’t think Madge will mind. You had to find the key.’ Daisy was beginning to sound slightly impatient. ‘Come on, I’ve made some coffee. Drink that and then off you go. I need to start lifting the dahlias and it’s back-breaking stuff. You’ve got it easy, swanning off to Heaven with a red coat for a cosy gossip about Madge’s old boyfriends. I bet this James was just one of many: find out what you can, it’ll be dead interesting.’
*
‘Thanks, darling.’ I found Madge still in her room although it was after eleven by the time I finally got to Almast Haven and handed her the coat. ‘I love this coat,’ Madge smiled, burying her nose in its warmth. ‘Used to be Nancy’s of course – I’d never have spent so much on a coat – but she was about to send it to Oxfam a couple of years ago and, as I said to her, “Charity begins at home. I’ll have that, please.” I knew it would be hanging up in the utility.’
‘Actually, Madge, it wasn’t.’
‘Oh? Where was it then? Where’d I left it?’ Madge looked puzzled.
‘Well, I hope you don’t mind but when I couldn’t find it in the utility, I tried to see if it was in the wardrobe in your bedroom.’
‘Why should I mind, Charlie?’
‘Well, the wardrobe was locked so I had to search for a key in your bedside cabinet.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I should have told you that. I keep the key in a tin.’
‘Yes, I know, I found it.’
Madge smiled and patted my hand. ‘Of course you did or you wouldn’t have been able to bring me the coat.’
; ‘We’re going to leave the water and electricity switched on in the bungalow, if that’s OK?’
Madge didn’t say anything for a while. ‘Look,’ she said finally, ‘I’m determined to be back home once the weather starts improving – you know, in spring – but I’ve just had a thought. How about you – or both of you girls – moving into the bungalow and keeping it aired and lived in for me? Daisy’s going to be there a lot anyway while she works on the garden.’
‘Oh, gosh, I don’t know.’
‘Up to you, darling. The offer’s there. My car’s in the garage too, and if you pay for the insurance and promise me you won’t give it too much hammer, you can both drive it. Now, have a think about it, but meanwhile do you fancy a walk round the grounds? I can put my lovely red coat on and give the old codgers in here something to talk about.’ She laughed at the thought.
‘Madge…’ I hesitated. ‘I found an old photo in the tin.’
‘Did you, darling? Who was it of? Your mother or you two girls?’ Madge looked at me expectantly, a smile on her face.
‘Well, no, it was a man from years ago, I should think. Someone called James?’
Madge looked at me but didn’t say anything.
‘I didn’t mean to pry, but I needed to find the key. I think he was probably very much in love with you?’
Madge reached for her stick and stood up. ‘Help me on with the coat, Charlie, would you? And my leather gloves are over there. Come on, let’s walk, and I’ll tell you about the very first time I saw James Montgomery-West.’
12
‘I was trained as a cook and sent to the Met training school on Oxford Street and actually, once I got into the swing of it all, I rather enjoyed it. I’m not convinced that my contribution helped defeat Hitler, but, like you, Charlie, I loved being in London, and because I had a fairly cushy number, enjoyed the whole war, really.’ Madge shook her head and then pointed her stick in the direction of a wooden bench. ‘Do you think it’s warm enough to sit for a while?’
We walked the fifty or so yards and Madge sat down heavily. She looked pale. ‘Do you want to go in?’ I asked, concerned.
‘No, no,’ Madge said impatiently. ‘Now I’ve started, I’d like to continue. And there is so much to tell.’
‘Why now, Gran?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you seem to have kept it all to yourself all these years.’
Madge sighed and tapped somewhat impatiently at the ground in front of her with her stick. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters now. Constance is dead; I Googled her on my iPad.’
‘Constance?’
Madge tutted. ‘You’re getting too far ahead. Let me concentrate on James and that wonderful, wonderful evening the very first time I clapped eyes on him.’
*
He was tall, with thick blond hair and the most amazing intelligent brown eyes, and had such an air of confidence about him that he must surely be an officer. Madge’s eyes went to his uniform – always a giveaway – comparing unfavourably the thick, heavy fabric of Arthur’s battledress with this man’s individually cut and tailored jacket already bearing the two stripes of a flight lieutenant.
He was sitting at a table crowded with other RAF personnel and a couple of glamorous women in evening dresses, and although he appeared to be drinking fairly heavily he seemed a little distant from his rowdier companions, leaning backwards on his chair, his right arm flung carelessly along its back, his eyes focused on something or someone other than those he was with. Because she was shy she was able to stand slightly apart from the rest of them and had the opportunity to take in every bit of him before he was even aware that she was with Francesca.
‘Darling James, how lovely to see you.’ Francesca left Madge’s side and almost ran towards his table, knocking into and cannoning off a couple of high-ranking army officers as she did so. ‘Darling, I didn’t know you were going to be here.’ She flung her arms round him, hugging him, while Madge stood shyly to one side uncertain what to do. Shouldn’t she be saluting all these officers?
‘Madge, come and meet James.’ Francesca turned to where Madge was rooted to the spot like some ancient oak tree and pulled her towards them. ‘Madge, this is my cousin, James Montgomery-West. James, this is my fellow cook, Marjorie Gregory.’
‘Shouldn’t you two be saluting your superior officers?’ the woman in mauve satin asked idly, echoing Madge’s thoughts, while eyeing their uniform with some disdain.
‘Shouldn’t you be in uniform yourself?’ Francesca immediately retorted, letting go of Madge’s hand and hugging her cousin once more.
‘Married woman, darling, with a child, so exempt. Besides, blue is so… so depressing, do you not think?’ She sipped at her pink drink and winked at James, who didn’t appear to notice. ‘I’m bored with this place,’ she went on petulantly. ‘They appear to be letting anyone in these days.’
‘Oh, are you going?’ Francesca glared at the woman. ‘Lovely, we’ll have your chair.’
James, who up until then had said nothing, grinned and, turning to the rest of the table, introduced his cousin. ‘This is my cousin, Lady Francesca Montgomery-West.’
Madge stared. Lady? She’d not known Francesca was a lady, for heaven’s sake. Posh, yes – you only had to hear Francesca’s cut-glass vowels to know she was a girl with breeding – but an actual lady? Francesca had certainly kept that to herself over the reconstituting of powdered egg for Madeira cake. They’d met on the corridor, both Madge and Francesca heading for the tiny bathroom that the six WAAF cooks shared. Dripping with wet stockings and pants, it was, nevertheless, the first indoor lav and plumbed-in bath that Madge had experienced, the Co-op not unduly concerned with its tenant farmers and their families having to retreat outside for the toilet, or in front of the fire in a tin bath for their Friday night soak. Francesca was twenty-one, a couple of years older than Madge and, as a result of six months spent at finishing school in Switzerland perfecting lemon soufflé as well as the correct way to serve it from the left, a favourite with Sergeant Briscoe.
James Montgomery-West stood, swaying slightly as he got to his feet, his brown eyes blinking slowly as he turned his attention and focus on Madge.
‘Too much to drink, darling?’ Francesca smiled indulgently at her cousin. ‘I’m assuming you’re not about to take your bombing machine anywhere across the Channel tonight?’
‘We’ve forty-eight hours’ leave,’ the officer sitting across from James answered for him, his flat vowels indicating his northern origins.
James reached out a hand to Madge but, before they could connect, sat down heavily, his legs appearing to give way slightly beneath him. ‘Sorry, girls. Too little sleep and too much of this.’ James indicated the glass in front of him and then turned to Madge again, his eyes never once leaving her face.
‘Eddie Wilson,’ the other man smiled at Francesca and Madge before grabbing a vacant chair from the next table and lifting it towards them. ‘I can see I’m going to have to introduce myself.’
‘You sound like Madge here. She’s from up north too.’ Francesca took Madge’s arm and swiftly sat both of them on the one chair next to the men, successfully eliminating the two other women from this inner circle of around ten RAF officers.
Eddie turned to Madge. ‘You’re from Lancashire?’
‘No, Yorkshire.’ Madge smiled shyly, conscious all the while of James’s eyes on her face. ‘The white rose rather than the red, I’m afraid.’
‘Eddie is with me on R-Rascal,’ James said. ‘He’s our wireless operator.’ He smiled at Eddie and patted his arm affectionately before using his other hand to wave to a passing waiter. ‘Gin, Francesca, or are you still into Daiquiris?’
‘Gin, please. Lots of tonic. Madge?’
‘I’ll have the same please.’ Madge had no idea what a Daiquiri was but had drunk gin on previous occasions. She wasn’t that keen on its taste but the last thing she wanted to do was ask for a lemonade in such sophisticated company. She looked round the crowded room, at the sea of
blue and khaki, and felt totally out of her depth. A band was playing over in the corner of the Palm Court, and while Eddie concentrated on clearing a space on the table for the drinks that the hovering waiter was intent on offloading, and James and Francesca caught up on news from some relative who was apparently at death’s door, Madge let the music flood her senses. She’d adored Glenn Miller since being first introduced to ‘In the Mood’ by her big sister Lydia years earlier, and when the band – aping the great man and his music – struck up the first chords, Madge felt her feet start to tap almost involuntarily.
‘Dance?’ Eddie stood in front of her, grinning. ‘We northerners need to show these southerners we’re not just all Yorkshire pudding and Lancashire hotpot. Come on.’
Madge stood, straightened her skirt and took Eddie’s hand as he led her onto the crowded dance floor. She was relieved to see most of the other women were also in uniform with the accompanying flat black lace-up shoes; indeed, the few women sporting silver and gold dance shoes and satin evening dresses were beginning to look overdressed. Having said that, Madge was glad that she’d spent time on washing and curling her blond hair and had borrowed Francesca’s mascara to set off the new red lipstick she’d bought earlier that day in Selfridges on Oxford Street. Arthur had loved dancing as much as she did and together they’d spent most Saturday nights before they’d joined up down in Midhope at the Cambridge Road swimming baths, where a temporary wooden floor transformed the pool from swimming to dancing, perfecting their moves.
Eddie was also an able dancer and as he led her through various swing steps Madge began to relax and enjoy herself. She was at The Ritz, for heaven’s sake, in London, dancing with Bomber Command officers. As she followed Eddie’s lead she was already composing the letter she’d be sending to Lydia back home in Westenbury, but as the saxophones and trumpets brought the piece to its climax, all thoughts of her elder sister and previous life went from her mind as she concentrated on the here and now. Hot and sticky in the stifling June evening air, Madge felt her skin dampen and sweat trickle down her back and she longed to take off her uniform jacket and tie. As the band played the final notes, Eddie grinned down at her and nodded towards their group still sitting at the table to their right. She smiled back gratefully and was just about to follow him back when the band struck up once more: ‘Moonlight Serenade’.
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 11
