by Ellie Dean
‘These should be cold enough now,’ she said. ‘I put them in the shed overnight.’
There was an audible gasp as everyone eyed the expensive bottles, and Sylvia smiled at a goggle-eyed Jim. ‘Would you open them, please? I never did get the hang of popping champagne corks.’
‘To be sure, Lady Sylvia, you’ve a great sense of occasion, so you have,’ said Ron.
She smiled at him and winked at her son. ‘We Anstruther-Nortons know how to celebrate, don’t we, Christopher?’
He winked back, his soft blond hair falling over his forehead. ‘I should say so, Mother, and if Pa was here, he’d agree wholeheartedly. But just a snifter for me, please, I shouldn’t really be having any alcohol.’
Jim carefully poured the straw-coloured foaming champagne, and Ron passed the glasses round the table. They all looked at Sylvia expectantly.
She stood and raised her glass, the diamonds flashing on her finger and in her ears. ‘The King,’ she said.
They all stood and toasted the King.
But Sylvia wasn’t finished. ‘I now propose we drink to those who cannot be with us today.’ She looked round the table. ‘A toast to Peggy, my husband James, and our two sons Bertie and Matthew – and to Antonino, Roberto and Jack Smith. May they return to the bosom of their families very soon.’
They drank the toast in thoughtful silence, and Rita felt the onrush of emotion as she thought of her father being so far away. There were so many families praying for their men to come home safely, but how much worse it must be for those whose loved ones would never return. She sniffed back the tears and counted herself lucky. Jack Smith and the Minelli men were safe. They would come home eventually.
‘Right,’ said Martin, breaking the solemn mood. ‘Now it’s my turn. Here’s to all the courageous boys fighting this war – and the women who so bravely wait for them.’
The mood lightened immediately and there was a rousing cheer.
Within moments of putting down his glass, Ron had called for a toast to all the rescue dogs. Then Jim proposed a toast to Lord Cliffe, who had unwittingly provided the birds for the table that day, and Fran offered a toast to ‘Matron and all who sail in her’.
They collapsed into laughter and quickly opened the last three bottles. When they were empty, Rosie produced a large bottle of gin out of her capacious handbag, and it all got a bit messy.
Someone put a record on the gramophone, the rug was rolled back into a corner, and the noise level rocketed. Rosie dragged a protesting Ron from the table for a dance, June grabbed an unsteady, but very willing Jim, and Martin held Anne with his uninjured arm and, with the mound of their unborn baby between them, managed a passable stab at a two-step.
‘I think it’s time we were leaving,’ muttered Louise.
‘But the party’s just getting started,’ replied Rita, who was flushed from too much champagne and desperate to join in the dancing.
‘Precisely.’ Louise was tight-lipped as she watched Rosie trying to teach Ron how to jitterbug. ‘And some don’t seem to care that they’re making a show of themselves.’ She gave a derisive sniff. ‘I’m surprised Anne allows that floozie in the door, let alone to sit at her table.’
Sylvia must have overheard, for she leaned across a highly embarrassed Rita, her voice low so that it wouldn’t carry to the others. ‘Rosie has a heart of gold,’ she said flatly, ‘and makes Ron feel eighteen again. Don’t condemn out of hand, Louise. You can’t always tell a book by its cover, you know.’
‘It’s not proper to be prancing about at her age – and in that dress. It’s almost indecent,’ muttered Louise as her sullen gaze followed the bouncing bosom and wriggling hips.
‘I admire her energy,’ said Sylvia, ‘and it looks like fun. Come on, Rita, let’s give it a go.’
‘Rita is on duty tonight,’ protested Louise.
‘Then she should have some fun before she has to leave,’ replied Sylvia.
Rita happily followed Sylvia into the centre of the makeshift dance floor. ‘She doesn’t mean to be rude,’ she said quickly, ‘but she’s had a very sheltered life and is often more Italian than the Italians in her way of thinking.’
Sylvia nodded as they tried to copy the steps Fran and Suzy seemed to have conquered with ease. ‘It’s often the way in mixed marriages,’ she said lightly. ‘But never mind. I’m sure she’ll see how much fun we’re having and will soon join in.’
Rita doubted it very much, but she didn’t have time to think about Louise, for the music was enticing and she and Sylvia were beginning to get the hang of the dance.
It was now late afternoon. Rita was taking a bit of a breather from all the dancing and enjoying a welcome cup of tea with a slice of the delicious Christmas cake when there was a knock at the door, and June and Suzy raced out of the room.
Fran turned to Jim, who was trying unsuccessfully to flirt with Sylvia. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Reilly, but we asked a couple of friends to join us.’
Jim raised an eyebrow as he heard the voices in the hall. ‘’Tis my guess these friends are not nurses from the hospital,’ he slurred, his eyes twinkling with alcohol-fuelled good humour.
‘Um, no. They’re Yanks from the airbase – and as they’re so far from home and it is Christmas, we thought it would be nice to show them how we celebrate it here.’
‘You’d better get them in then instead of keeping them in my hallway,’ he said expansively.
‘Thanks, Jim, to be sure you’re a darlin’ man.’ She kissed his cheek and hugged his neck before rushing off.
Jim looked bashful as he caught Mrs Finch’s disapproving glare. ‘To be sure, she thinks of me as a father,’ he blustered.
‘As long as you remember that and don’t get ideas, Jim Reilly,’ she retorted.
‘Ach, woman,’ he snorted. ‘’Twas nothing.’
He turned from Mrs Finch and eyed the young Americans who hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Clean-shaven and wholesome, they looked smart in their uniform greatcoats, their hair short and slicked back with Brylcreem beneath the jaunty caps which they hurriedly removed.
Jim staggered to his feet, swayed alarmingly and had to sit down again. ‘Come in, come in, me boys, and introduce yourselves.’
Rita went scarlet and almost swallowed her tea the wrong way. The last man to enter was Chuck – the boy she’d met outside the recruitment office all those weeks ago – and as his gaze found her and he smiled, she felt a little thrill of pleasure. He remembered her too.
Their spokesman snapped off a smart salute and stood ramrod straight as if he was on a parade ground. ‘Squadron Leader Rory Banks, at your service, sir.’ He indicated the men beside him. ‘Flying Officer Lewis Carmichael, Flight Lieutenant Harry Jablonski, and Pilot Officer Chuck Howard.’ All three saluted and stood to attention as Jim introduced everyone.
Mrs Finch giggled and went pink. ‘Ooh, what fun. You haven’t got any chickens hidden away in those big coats, have you?’
‘Chickens, ma’am?’ Rory Banks looked puzzled.
‘To be sure, we had some Aussie boys come over once,’ said Jim. ‘They brought chickens and eggs and cooked us all steak. It was a rare treat.’
Rory Banks grinned. ‘You can always trust the Aussies to make a grand gesture.’ He cleared his throat, his expression becoming serious again. ‘Mr Reilly, we’re real grateful for your hospitality on this Christmas Day,’ he said, ‘and although we don’t have any chickens or eggs, we hope you’ll accept these small gifts.’
Jim’s eyes widened as several cartons of American cigarettes were placed on the table alongside a tin of ham, a dozen slim boxes of stockings and two bottles of whisky.
He gave a long, low whistle. ‘Well, to be sure, ’tis a pleasure to be welcoming you. Sit down, boys, and let’s open that bottle so we can drink a toast to cementing our friendship.’
As the men opened the whisky and settled down to drink and chat, the women fell on the stockings and hastily tucked them away as if afraid they mi
ght be taken back.
Even Mrs Finch was quick off the mark and stuffed a pair into her ever-present handbag. ‘Make sure you keep the last few pairs for Peggy,’ she ordered Anne. ‘They’ll be a lovely welcome home present.’
Rita carefully put the precious stockings into the pocket of her overcoat which hung on the back of her chair, and shyly smiled her thanks at Chuck, who was still watching her.
‘I don’t think we should accept such intimate things,’ muttered Louise, who wore thick lisle stockings regardless of the time of year. ‘We don’t know these men and it’s not proper.’
‘Well, if you don’t want them, I’ll have them,’ said Rosie cheerfully. ‘It’s murder on nylons behind that bar, and it’s been ages since I had a decent pair.’
Louise gave her the sort of look that would have stunned a more sensitive soul – but Rosie seemed unperturbed as she continued to look hopefully at the stockings on the table.
Louise picked up the flat box and neatly slipped it into her handbag. ‘It’s time we went, Rita,’ she said firmly. ‘Tino would not approve.’
‘But it’s still early,’ Rita protested.
‘We are going,’ Louise replied flatly.
‘Hi there.’
Rita looked up and found Chuck standing beside her. ‘Hello,’ she said, all too aware that Louise was glaring at them both. ‘Nice to see you again, Chuck. How are you?’
He grinned bashfully as he twisted his cap in his hands. ‘I’m okay, I guess, but it’s sure hard to still be on the sidelines of this war. We weren’t sure if we’d be welcome today.’
‘Of course you’re welcome,’ she said awkwardly. ‘The Reillys rarely turn anyone away,’ she blushed again as she added, ‘especially when they come with such lovely presents.’
Louise jabbed her with her elbow. ‘You know this person?’
Rita nodded, her gaze fixed on Chuck as she introduced them. ‘Chuck’s brother has a Norton just like mine,’ she said.
‘That’s correct, ma’am,’ he said pleasantly. He disregarded Louise’s disapproving glare and sat down. ‘My brother and I have always had motorbikes, and when I saw Rita’s Norton, I just had to talk to her. You must be very proud of her, Mrs Minelli. Not many girls can build a bike from scratch.’
Louise regarded him stonily for a long moment and then reached for her cardigan. ‘Rita and I have to go,’ she said.
‘Not yet, Mamma,’ Rita said firmly. ‘I’m not on duty at the fire station until ten, and it’s only six.’
‘But you have to drive me home first and get changed. I really think . . .’ The rest of her protest was drowned out by the lively sound of the Glenn Miller orchestra pouring from the gramophone.
Chuck and Rita looked at one another and took advantage of the moment, jumping to their feet and joining the others on the makeshift dance floor.
‘So, you’re not married,’ he said.
She shook her head, suddenly shy to be in his arms.
‘Is your mother always so protective?’
She nodded and blushed and couldn’t meet his eye, let alone go into a long explanation of her relationship with Louise.
‘Can’t say I blame her at all,’ he shouted above the music. ‘A pretty gal who owns a Norton is a rare find.’
She didn’t really know what to say to this and suddenly wished she was as adept as Cissy when it came to flirting.
They danced in silence for a while and when the record came to an end he leaned close and murmured in her ear, ‘You have to be at the fire station at ten?’ At her shy nod, he smiled. ‘Would it be okay if I came along to keep you company?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said hesitantly. ‘The station manager doesn’t allow visitors, and he could be sending me anywhere tonight.’
‘There won’t be any raids, you know. There’s what you Limeys call a pea-souper out there, and Gerry can’t fly in the fog.’ He grinned and took her hand as the music began again. ‘Come on, let’s dance while we can. After all, it is Christmas.’
Sylvia watched Rita and the young American and was glad for the girl. She’d heard her story from Anne and Cissy, and had witnessed the way Louise clung to her. It was such a shame that one so young should be tied down with responsibilities. With the war on, and survival being so precarious, it was important to live every minute as if it were their last.
‘You’re looking thoughtful, Mother,’ said Christopher as he stroked Harvey’s silky ears.
She smiled at him lovingly and resisted the urge to brush the hair back from his forehead. ‘I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help little Rita,’ she murmured, aware that Louise was nearby and could probably hear.
He grinned as he watched Rita and the American enjoying one another’s company. ‘I think young Rita’s perfectly capable of helping herself,’ he said wryly. ‘She might be small and skinny, but you shouldn’t let that fool you, Mother. There’s a toughness there, believe me.’
Sylvia patted his hand, the swell of love reminding her how lucky she was that he’d been spared from paying the ultimate sacrifice. ‘You know me,’ she murmured. ‘I never could resist a child in need.’
‘She’s hardly a child, Mother,’ he retorted. ‘Leave well alone, I say. She’ll be all right.’ He ruffled Harvey’s rough fur and sneaked him a morsel of cake that still clung to his plate.
Sylvia decided to say no more. Christopher knew nothing of Rita and Louise’s story or circumstances, and certainly had no inkling of her own humble beginnings. He probably wouldn’t understand much of it if he had been told – and she had often wondered how he would react. Her coming to live at Beach View, and the easy way she’d settled into the routine of this household, had shocked him enough – how much worse it would be if he and his brothers discovered that their mother had once been an orphan waif begging for food in the London slums.
She took a deep breath and became lost in her thoughts. James had gently tried to reason with her, but she had refused to be talked out of staying here, seeing it not only as a way of showing her appreciation to the man who’d saved her son’s life, but as an opportunity for Christopher to experience life outside his cocoon of wealth and privilege.
This class divide had been a knotty problem right from the start of her marriage for, much to her disappointment and chagrin, James had been adamant that none of his sons should be exposed to the rougher elements of society, those whose lives were one long struggle for survival. He chaired several charity boards and donated generously. In his opinion, that was enough.
She had done her best to widen her sons’ horizons so they might have a better understanding of the world outside their privileged existence, for she firmly believed it would make them better men. But they were too like their father, and regarded charity donations as the only way to carry out their duty to those less fortunate. She could only hope that their time in the services would make them see things differently.
She let the noise and bustle go on around her as she allowed her thoughts to roam. She was a socialist at heart, and held strong, some might say radical, opinions on the welfare of the poor – though she’d never quite dared reveal them to James or the rest of his staunchly Conservative family. But the last war had seen many changes on the estate, and this one would carry on that process.
The women were earning good money now and taking a pride in themselves and their achievements, no longer prepared to slave for a pittance below stairs or take orders from bullying husbands. The big country houses no longer had manservants and an army of gardeners and estate workers to keep them going, so half the rooms had been put in mothballs for the duration – or taken over by the military as hospitals.
The harvests were being brought in by old men and land girls, the formal gardens turned into vegetable patches, the imposing iron gates sent away to be turned into tanks and aeroplanes. It would be a very different world that those fighting men would return to, and as fortunes were made and lost, those once grand estates would be t
aken on by the new money, and the class divide would blur again as it had in the nineteen twenties.
She smiled as she thought how horrified James would be if he could read her thoughts this minute. But the inevitability of it all could not be denied, and she rather looked forward to that day.
Selecting a lavender-coloured Sobranie cigarette from the dainty box, she lit it with her gold Dunhill lighter and gathered her wayward thoughts. She needed to concentrate on the problem of Rita and Louise.
Sylvia could imagine what heartache Louise must be going through, and the frustrations and divided loyalties Rita had to be contending with. It was clear Louise could only really function when she had someone to rely upon and, without her husband, she was like a lost soul, clinging to Rita for every need.
As the music and dancing continued, and Christopher and Martin fell into a serious discussion with two of the Americans about the lack of planes and fully qualified pilots, and the setback caused by the recent attack on the airfield, Sylvia watched the different expression flit across Louise’s face.
Rita had told Sylvia that Louise was ‘more Italian than the Italians’. It couldn’t be easy to be Italian at the moment for despite the pact they’d signed with Germany and Japan, the Italians weren’t faring well in this war. Their fleet had been crippled at Taranto back in early November. Later that month, the Greeks had defeated the invading Italian army – and now the British and Australians had begun a desert offensive against them in Northern Africa.
Louise was fortunate in a way that her menfolk were safe in some internees’ camp, far from any strategic areas that might be bombed. Yet not to know where they were, or how they were faring, must be agony.
‘Is there a smudge on my face? Is that why you’re staring at me?’
Sylvia snapped out of her thoughts. ‘I’m so sorry, Louise,’ she said quickly. ‘I wasn’t really looking at you – I was just very deep in thought.’
Louise lifted her chin and patted the stray wisps of hair back into the knot at her nape. ‘It’s the occasion to turn our thoughts to more serious things than loud music and dancing. Without our loved ones, it all seems rather pointless.’
