by Joanna Toye
‘I had a photo of Bill to give her, you know,’ Gladys went on, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘I’ve only got four myself, and I was going to give her the best, the one of him in his uniform.’
Poor Gladys – Lily’s heart went out to her. They’d invested so much effort in this whole enterprise and Gladys had invested so much hope. Lily wasn’t at all convinced that sending a wedding invitation was a good idea, in fact, a very bad one, but her only hope was that maybe Gladys would calm down. It had been a very emotional weekend; she was overwrought. Perhaps she’d see things more clearly in the morning.
Next morning, though, Lily had other things to think about – her first day on Schoolwear. Miss Frobisher, as she’d promised, had had a good look at the department and found plenty that in her view needed attention. But she had no intention of telling Lily what to do – she was backing her hunch that the new second salesgirl would see for herself what could be done differently – and better.
She left Lily introducing herself to the junior, Minnie, and swept off, saying she’d be back later to see if Lily had any thoughts.
Lily gulped, but one quick look at the oak-and-glass display drawers behind the counter gave her lots to think about straight away. Why was the games kit here, in the centre? Where were the standard school shirts? And why would the ties and caps be where they were and not …?
By mid-morning, with Minnie obediently sorting socks, Lily already had a long list of ‘thoughts’ to pass to Miss Frobisher, who smiled and nodded approvingly. Just as she’d hoped, Lily had spotted straight away what needed to be done.
Lily had been so keen to get to her new department that she hadn’t seen Gladys first thing, but they crossed in the canteen at dinnertime, Gladys leaving as Lily arrived.
‘How’s it going?’ her friend asked at once. ‘Are you enjoying it?’
‘It’s a bit too soon for that!’ Lily replied. ‘But once I’ve got used to it, do you know, I think I might!’
‘Good.’ Gladys sounded warm, friendly, her usual self.
‘And how are you?’ Lily ventured. ‘Do you feel any better about things now you’ve slept on it?’
‘Better?’ said Gladys rather tartly, for her. ‘It’s a bit too soon for that and all! But I’m sending the invitation if that’s what you mean, see if it pricks her conscience.’
‘Ah.’
There was a mulishness in Gladys Lily had never seen before.
‘I haven’t changed my mind and I’m not going to,’ Gladys went on. ‘I know you don’t agree with it, Lily, but I don’t always have to do what you say.’
‘No, of course you don’t,’ said Lily quickly. ‘Let’s not fall out over it, please. I won’t say any more. Subject closed. You send it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gladys with an air of finality. ‘It’s my wedding, and I will!’
The difference of opinion over the invitation was soon smoothed over. It was impossible to fall out with Gladys for long, Lily knew, and she also knew she was needed as a sounding board while Gladys burbled on about her latest idea for the flowers – pink roses and white carnations. Lily did her best, but despite her resolve, she was getting very weary of flowers, and so was Beryl.
‘I think the dresses are a bit more important!’ she said.
Then, one day – triumph!
‘I’ve got them!’ she told Lily, who’d called in at the shop after work.
With a conjuror’s flourish, Beryl whipped the sheets off two mannequins to reveal first a bridal gown, and then a bridesmaid’s dress in the same style. With a deep scooped neck, a satin bodice, a chiffon over-skirt and a corsage at the waist, it was a tender soft green.
‘Like it?’
‘Like it?’ Lily exclaimed. ‘I love it!’
‘Green, see!’ Beryl beamed. ‘She can’t argue with that – it’ll go with any flowers!’
‘Beryl, you’re a genius!’ Lily touched the skirt. There was more material in it than she’d seen in a dress in her life, never mind since two years of clothes rationing. That was the beauty of second-hand. ‘It’s beautiful, I can’t wait to wear it. And you bought them specially, one for me as well? That must have cost you!’
Beryl shrugged.
‘I promised you two you’d knock spots off Evelyn Brimble and I meant it. Now the business is doing better, it was time I had some new stock, anyway.’
Lily held the filmy chiffon skirt to one side and let it fall.
‘I’m going to feel like Ginger Rogers! Oh, thank you! I’ll wait till Gladys has seen hers and we’ll try them on together.’
‘Your mum’ll have to let out the darts and lift the hem a bit on Glad’s, but as long as she wears a decent heel … oh, please God, she likes it!’
‘She’ll have to! Time’s ticking on!’
‘If she doesn’t,’ declared Beryl, sheathing Lily’s dress in its cover again, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do. Strangulation’s looking tempting.’
But murder wasn’t necessary. Gladys loved Lily’s dress and was ecstatic about her own, Dora slightly less so when she saw the work involved. But she got on with it with her usual good grace.
Chapter 15
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky on the day of the Red Cross fete – perfect midsummer weather.
‘Just what we need for the wedding!’ Gladys exclaimed as she and Lily walked arm-in-arm in the dappled shade up the drive of ‘Holmwood’ – the Brimbles’ house.
‘How many days is it now, Gladys?’ asked Jim innocently, though Lily knew he knew perfectly well. She aimed a kick at his ankle, but he anticipated it and stepped neatly out of range.
‘Sixteen,’ replied Gladys breathily. ‘And only fifteen till Bill arrives.’
Bill had confirmed the dates using the secret code which he and Gladys, with remarkable ingenuity, had designed. If a letter had a PS, that PS contained a coded message. All the signals courses Bill had done on his way to becoming a Wireless Operator hadn’t gone amiss.
Lily understood well enough how her friend must be longing for her big day. Bill had been away at sea for almost a year and Gladys had been so brave and uncomplaining, but the endless wedding plans had almost driven her to distraction. The dresses were ready, the veil and even the flowers finally chosen, the reception menu decided on. There were no balloons to be had, so Gladys had settled for strips of lametta and streamers to decorate the hall. But every time Lily thought that was it, there was something else: Gladys was now on the hunt for a lucky chimney sweep to greet them when they came out of church. Big day or not, and much as she loved her friend, Lily had had it up to here. And there’d still been no reply from Mrs Quartermain, because she knew Gladys would have told her in triumph if there had.
‘What shall we do first?’ she asked to change the subject. ‘Going to win me something on the hoopla, Jim? Or have a go on Test Your Strength?’
‘Straight to Splat the Rat,’ said Jim decisively. ‘I’ve had enough practice keeping them away from the hens and the veg in your back yard—’
He broke off. The house had come into view. A huge Victorian Gothic pile in terracotta brick, it looked as though the architect had flipped open his book of designs and stuck a pin in every page. There were round windows, pointy windows, carvings, reliefs, curlicues, gables and even a tower with a steepled roof. As they blinked at the sheer excess, a uniformed Red Cross official appeared from a makeshift booth, checked their tickets and waved them round the side.
‘Fete that way,’ he said.
On the lawn behind the house, between shrubberies and flower beds, the fete was in full swing. Dora had been there all morning helping to set up, but Jim, Lily and Gladys had delayed their arrival, not being bothered about the official opening by the Mayor. Their first commitment was to meet Beryl and Les at half past three for the Bonny Baby contest – naturally, Bobby was going to win, at least in the eyes of his doting parents.
It was everything a proper fete should be. The bunting was up, the stalls were busy, and the band
of the Boys’ Brigade was tootling away merrily on the wide stone-flagged terrace. Gladys wanted to head for the White Elephant, anticipating choice pickings for her bottom drawer, and Lily wanted to say hello to her mum in the tea tent, so they left Jim examining tomato plants on the plant stall.
‘Afternoon!’ Jim started in surprise and saw Robert Marlow behind him. ‘I was wondering if you’d be here! I don’t think you’ve met Mr Bigley? Of Bigley’s the hauliers? Barry, this is Jim Goodridge.’
In flannels and a stripy blazer, Bigley had dressed up to his image of the English gentleman at leisure: all it needed was for the band to break into the Eton Boating Song. But what sprang to Jim’s mind was a favourite phrase of Dora’s – ‘There’s no varnish can hide the grain of the wood.’
Grudgingly – what was Robert thinking? – but with no choice, Jim held out his hand. Bigley was the last person he’d expected to see – let alone be introduced to.
‘How do you do.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Bigley pumped his hand. ‘I gather you’re Robert’s cousin.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jim cautiously.
He wondered what else Robert had said – surely not that he worked at Marlow’s? Lord knew what ideas that might put into Bigley’s head. Robert’s eyes signalled panic and Jim understood. Robert thought Bigley might resume his campaign and expected Jim to get him out of it if he did. What a hopeless character Robert was, the backbone of an earthworm. But Bigley was all smiles.
‘Well, this is very splendid, isn’t it?’ he beamed. Close to, his face was a mass of red veins, and he gave off a sickening waft of hair tonic which failed to cover up a heavier waft of perspiration – or, thought Jim sourly, the stench of corruption. ‘First time I’ve been in Hinton for a while.’ He winked. ‘Business interests, you know, they’ve been taking me away.’
‘Oh yes?’ asked Jim coolly.
Bigley lowered his voice.
‘Robert knows this, and as you’re family, I don’t mind telling you. I had a few little … shall we say “off-ration” interests going. But some joker must have found out and tipped off the police. Luckily, I, um, well, let’s say I have contacts.’
He managed to not quite actually tap his nose as he said it. Jim shot a glance at Robert, who frowned and gave a warning shake of his head. Bigley was so carried away with his own importance he didn’t notice anyway.
‘Let’s say I got wind of it,’ he went on, ‘and I’m all right, the paperwork’s gone in the incinerator. They can’t pin so much as a parking fine on me, but I thought I’d cool it round here for a while even so.’
‘A narrow escape.’ Jim was amazed the words could come out through his grinding teeth.
‘Did me a favour, really,’ smirked Bigley. ‘It was small fry in Hinton. There’s bigger and better fish elsewhere. You have to have your eye to the main chance these days, don’t you, Robert?’
‘Indeed,’ gulped Robert. ‘Talking of which, have you had any tea, Barry? Before the tea tent gets too busy?’
Bigley shot a flashy watch from his sleeve and consulted it.
‘Blimey, yes, I said I’d meet the good lady wife five minutes ago! Excuse me, fellas. Good to meet you, Jim.’
Jim smiled thinly and turned to Robert, who was puffing out his cheeks in relief.
‘Looks like you’ve had a lucky escape.’
‘I know. My heart did a double back-flip when he showed up – I wasn’t sure what he wanted. But if I’m off the hook, it’s thanks to you, Jim. I am grateful.’
‘I don’t want your thanks,’ said Jim frostily. ‘I’d rather Bigley had been caught. You know why he got away with it, don’t you?’
‘I think I’ve worked it out,’ said Robert slowly. ‘He’s invited me to join his lodge.’
‘The masonic lodge? Oh, I get it.’
So DCI Gregson and the Golf Club Ball were the least of it. Everyone knew that the police and the masons were as thick as – well, thieves.
‘Are you going to join?’ Jim asked.
‘I’m already in a lodge in Birmingham,’ said Robert. ‘Through Sir Douglas.’
Of course. He would be.
‘Anyway,’ said Robert. ‘All water under the bridge, eh?’
‘It might be for you!’
It was dirty water, in Jim’s view, but Robert was right. He had to let it go. With his suspicions confirmed about Bigley being so well in with the police, there was no more he could do.
‘I’m sorry you can’t come to the wedding, by the way,’ Robert went on.
Jim wasn’t, but he answered politely.
‘Prior engagement, I’m afraid. Another wedding, in fact.’
‘There’s a lot of it about.’ Robert brushed a stray leaf from the sleeve of his linen jacket and gave a sly smile. ‘So when are you going to pop the question to your girl, eh?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well? You’ve been together a while, haven’t you? Don’t you think you’d better get on with it?’
‘I don’t need lessons in how to run my love life from you, thanks very much!’ Jim was incensed. ‘Or in anything, come to that!’
Robert looked at him sharply for a moment, then shrugged.
‘Suit yourself. But you heard what Barry said – you’ve got to have your eye to the main chance in this life.’
With a friendly pat on the shoulder, he sauntered off, leaving Jim staring wordlessly after him.
The fete was over. Jim was on ARP duty, so he’d had to leave early, but Lily and Gladys had stayed behind to help wash the tea things because Gladys was keen to ‘have a nosey’ inside the big house, even if it was only as far as the kitchen and the servants’ hall. They were impressive enough – the flagged kitchen with its long scrubbed table and two ranges was as big as the entire ground floor of Lily’s modest home. Emboldened, Gladys had managed to get as far as the servants’ WC and had reported that even that had a polished pine seat and a porcelain wash-hand basin.
Now they were on the carriage sweep in front of the house, waiting for Dora to collect her cake tins before the trek home. Beryl crunched towards them, struggling over the gravel with Bobby’s pushchair. Lily and Gladys rushed to help her: Les, who was a volunteer fireman, had already left with their winnings from the stalls, including two turnips, which had stood in for coconuts on the coconut shy.
But Beryl was fixated on another of the afternoon’s events – the Bonny Baby contest.
‘Second place! Second! What a blooming cheek!’
Bobby didn’t seem bothered, happily chewing on his second-place rosette, but his mother was seething.
‘Don’t take on, Beryl,’ soothed Gladys. ‘He was obviously the bonniest there. What does Evelyn Brimble know about babies, for goodness’ sake, it was ridiculous asking her to judge.’
‘Yes, she was bound to choose the frilliest girl.’ Lily poured more balm on Beryl’s wounds. ‘And if you think about it, Bobby was obviously the bonniest boy.’
This consoled the proud mother, and she conceded.
‘That’s true, by a mile,’ she nodded. ‘Not like that poor little mite in the sailor suit bawling his head off.’ She removed the rosette from Bobby’s clutches and gave him his dummy. ‘Lovely dress she had on, mind. Not the winning baby, Evelyn.’
Lily wrinkled her nose. Her thorny side masked, Evelyn had looked the perfect English rose in a wide-brimmed straw hat and a pink halter-necked sundress.
‘One way to save on material, I suppose,’ she sniffed.
As if in agreement, the second-bonniest baby spat out his dummy and started to grizzle.
‘Tired,’ said Beryl shortly. ‘Give me a hand with his chariot, will you?’
Together Gladys and Lily helped to carry the pushchair to where the tarmacked drive began and, as they turned from waving Beryl and Bobby goodbye, Dora appeared with a clanking bag of cake tins. Lily took it from her and they began walking down the drive.
‘You must be exhausted, Mum!’
; ‘I’m fine.’
It was her mum’s automatic response: she’d be saying that on her deathbed, Lily often thought. In fact, Dora would probably get off her deathbed to dust down an imaginary cobweb from the corner of the room.
‘I don’t know how!’ objected Gladys, used to the selfish demands of her carping gran. ‘You can’t have sat down since you got up!’
‘Oh but I did,’ Dora smiled. ‘I had half an hour off to go round the stalls. I sat down to have my fortune told.’
Madame Zuleika, alias Mrs Wimbush, stalwart of the WI and a champion jam-maker, had had a little tent all of her own, and an eager queue of customers all afternoon.
‘Did you? Well, go on!’ Lily was intrigued by this sudden frivolity on the part of her usually sensible mother. ‘Tell me you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger!’
‘That’s right, and there’ll be pigs flying past a blue moon,’ tutted Dora, her usual common sense restored. ‘If you really want to know, she said there’d be good news in the post – another circular from the Ministry of Food, more like – oh, and some unexpected news in person. So if you’ve got anything to tell me, Lily, you’d better spit it out!’
Lily laughed.
‘Nothing I can think of! But I’ll do my best to come up with something.’
‘Don’t try too hard,’ retorted her mum. ‘I know what you’re like for getting yourself mixed up in things you shouldn’t!’
Yes, thought Lily ruefully, like Robert Marlow’s pea-brained schemes that Jim always seemed to get involved in, and that – her mum was right – Lily always seemed to get dragged into as well. The only good news she wanted to hear was that Barry Bigley had been arrested, and she couldn’t see that arriving in the post – or the chief constable popping round to announce it in person, not after what Jim had told her about the way the brazen black marketeer had been boasting that very afternoon.
But Gladys nudged her and made a face, mouthing, ‘Bill’s mum, maybe?’ Lily smiled fondly at her friend: it was no surprise that Gladys would immediately think of that. But Bill’s mum or no Bill’s mum, and despite all her frustrations with the preparations, Lily was determined to make sure Gladys and Bill had their day to remember.
