My Sweet Valentine

скачать книгу бесплатно


‘Arthur? He’s far too busy at it is, and I’m not having him going and risking getting a cold in this bad weather with that chest of his.’

‘I’m sure that Ian Simpson will want to be involved, and Drew, of course,’ Olive continued, ignoring Nancy’s mean-spiritedness.

‘Well, yes, your Tilly would love that,’ Nancy agreed cattily. ‘Every time I see her these days she’s linked up to that American. In my days girls waited until they’d got an engagement ring on their finger before being so familiar with a young man.’

‘You and me are the same age, Nancy,’ Mrs Morrison cut in and then laughed, saying, ‘and I remember me and my hubby walking down the Strand with our arms wrapped around one another on his first leave home from the front and we’d only been walking out a few weeks before he joined up. We weren’t the only ones, either. That’s what happens during wartime.’

Mrs Morrison had definitely taken the wind out of Nancy’s sails, Olive could see, but knowing her neighbour as she did, Olive suspected that sooner or later Nancy would find a way of getting her own back. Olive didn’t know why she was finding it so difficult to get along with her neighbour these days. They’d always managed to rub along well enough before. But that had been when she had merely been a daughter-in-law in her in-laws’ home. Since number 13 had become hers, Nancy had been noticeably more critical of her. Olive tried to be charitable and to put Nancy’s almost constant carping about her young lodgers and Tilly down to the natural reaction of a mother parted by the war from her own daughter and her grandchildren, but there was no doubt that Nancy could be hard work.

‘I’m so glad you’ve decided to organise a fire-watching team for Article Row, Olive,’ Audrey told her later as they said their good nights.

Olive had deliberately held back on the pretext of wanting to ask the vicar’s wife more about Government’s provision of stirrup pumps so that she wouldn’t have to walk home with Nancy, who had gone off in a very bad mood indeed.

‘Nancy isn’t very happy about it,’ Olive felt bound to admit.

‘I’m afraid Nancy makes it her job not to be happy about a great many things,’ Audrey sighed ruefully. ‘Now, I’m going to ask the vicar to have another word with the warden to arrange for someone to come along and give everyone who’s interested a proper demonstration of a stirrup pump. Everyone who signs up for fire-watch duties will be given a hard hat as well as the stirrup pump, and every local council has been asked to provide supplies of sand for people to use. You might want to think about having some moved to Article Row so that your team can access it easily if need be.’

‘Yes, we could put it in one of the gardens. I’d say mine, but Nancy is bound to think I’m giving myself preferential treatment if I do that. Maybe Mr King will let us put it in the back gardens of one of his houses, since they’re unoccupied at the moment,’ said Olive.

Mr King was a local landlord who owned several now empty properties at the other end of Article Row from Olive.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Audrey approved.

‘We’ve got a couple of rakes in the garden shed. My father-in-law used to be a keen gardener and Agnes’s fiancé, Ted, came over and cleaned and sharpened everything in the autumn for Sally. She’s very kindly taken charge of the garden and its veggies for us.’

A little later, making her solitary way home, Olive discovered that although initially she had worried about what she might be getting herself into, now she actually felt rather proud of herself for making that decision. For all that Nancy had been so unpleasant about it, surely it was far better to get involved and do something to protect the homes of which they were all so proud rather than risk an incendiary starting a fire that no one spotted until it was too late, and it had taken hold, possibly threatening the whole Row.

Four

‘I expect that you and your young man have got something special planned for the evening of Valentine’s Day on Friday – that’s if Hitler doesn’t come calling with more bombs,’ Clara Smith, the girl who worked with Tilly in the Lady Almoner’s office at Barts Hospital, asked as they sat side by side in front of their typewriters, shivering in the room’s icy February chill. The two girls were working through yet another batch of new patients’ details for their files, and trying to keep warm with extra layers of clothing because the radiator in their office had been turned off to conserve precious fuel.

Tilly loved her job and felt very proud of the fact that her head mistress had recommended her for the post. She’d worked hard not to let her or the Lady Almoner down, even though the war had brought an increase to her workload that had felt daunting at times.

‘Drew is taking me out for dinner,’ Tilly answered. ‘I don’t know where, though. Drew says that it’s going to be a surprise.’

Being taken out to dinner sounded awfully grown up and sophisticated, not like going to the pictures or even going dancing at the Hammersmith Palais. Her mother wasn’t very keen on them going out alone, just the two of them, Tilly knew.

‘Ooh, a surprise, is it? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if his surprise includes an engagement ring, it being Valentine’s,’ Clara informed her with the wisdom of a girl who already had an engagement ring on her finger.

Tilly felt her heart turn over. There was nothing she wanted more than to have Drew’s ring on her finger – a wedding ring, though, not just an engagement ring.

‘Mum thinks I’m too young to get engaged,’ she felt obliged to tell Clara. She didn’t want the other girl secretly thinking when she didn’t have an engagement ring to wear after Valentine’s Day that Drew didn’t love her enough to give her one. ‘She says that she doesn’t want me rushing into anything just because we’re at war.’

‘That’s typical of the older generation,’ Clara criticised roundly. ‘They don’t understand. It’s because of the war that people want to get engaged and married, in case anything happens, and it’s too late.’

‘Well, Mum got married just a few years after the last war,’ Tilly felt obliged to defend her mother, ‘and she was eighteen herself then, but by the time she was twenty she’d been widowed and she’d got me to look after.’

‘That was then,’ Clara told Tilly. ‘Things are different now. If you ask me I’d rather be married to my fiancé and have something special to remember him by than have him die without ever doing, well, you know what, if you know what I mean.’

Tilly did indeed know what Clara meant. Her face might have grown hot because of what Clara had said but it was no hotter than her body grew at night when she was alone in bed thinking about Drew’s kisses and how they made her feel.

It was an open secret, if you listened properly to what some of the bolder girls had to say in the canteen at lunchtime, that there were plenty of girls who weren’t prepared to deny their young men their physical love when they were going off to war, even if they didn’t have a wedding ring on their finger.

‘Our boys are being so brave and risking their lives for us, us being brave and taking a risk to make them happy is the least we can do. Leastways that’s what I think,’ one of the more outspoken girls had announced when this very subject had come under discussion one lunchtime.

In one sense the war had brought Drew to her, but the thought of it taking him from her made Tilly’s blood chill as ice cold in her veins as though she had been standing outside without her coat in the cold February wind. Suddenly she couldn’t wait for her working day to finish and for the reassurance of finding Drew waiting outside the hospital’s main entrance to walk her home, as he sometimes did if he could snatch enough time away from his work as a reporter. Not that Drew was one to shirk his duty to his work – far from it, he often worked long into the evening, reporting on bombing incidents, talking to the dispossessed, taking photographs. As often as her mother would let her, Tilly went with him when he worked in the evening, gathering material not just for his articles but also for the book he planned to write about Fleet Street when the war was over.

She was lucky to have Drew here in London, Tilly knew. So many sweethearts were separated because of the war; so many brave men in uniform. Take the Royal Navy and the Merchant Navy, for instance, manning the all-important convoys that risked not just the dangerous winter seas to bring much-needed supplies back to Britain, but Hitler’s U-boats, as well. Then there was the army fighting to hold back Rommel’s men in the desert, and the RAF doing everything they could to stop Hitler’s Luftwaffe from bombing Britain.

No wonder the whole country read their newspapers so keenly and gathered so anxiously around their wirelesses to catch the BBC news broadcasts. Tilly’s heart swelled with fresh pride as she acknowledged just how important her wonderful Drew’s role was in keeping the country informed.

‘Wait up, Olive.’

Olive pulled her coat more firmly around herself as she stood in the icy February wind waiting for Nancy to catch up with her. Like her, Nancy was carrying a shopping bag.

‘If you’re going to the grocer’s you’d better watch out,’ she complained, her voice shrill with discontent. ‘He told me he hadn’t got a jar of meat paste in the shop last Thursday, but on Tuesday Mrs Mortimer from Parlance Street told me that he’d had a new order of it in. You mark my words, he’s stockpiling things, keeping them back until the price goes up.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true, Nancy,’ Olive responded. ‘He’d probably sold out, that’s all. And as for shopkeepers profiteering by keeping tinned goods back, there’s a new law been brought in to put a stop to that.’

‘It’s all very well for you to say that. How’s this new law going to be imposed, that’s what I want to know? And that’s another thing: I don’t know how Sergeant Dawson can do his job properly, taking as much time off as he has since they’ve had that rough boy living with them.’

‘Sergeant Dawson is simply using up some leave that was owing to him so that he and Mrs Dawson can get Barney properly settled in.’

‘Oh, he told you that, did he? And when might that have been?’

‘No, Sergeant Dawson didn’t tell me that. Mrs Windle did.’ Thank heavens Nancy didn’t know just how relieved she was to be able to tell her that and put her in her place, Olive thought guiltily.

‘That’s all very well,’ Nancy responded, bridling angrily, ‘but like I’ve said to you before, Olive, a woman in your shoes – widowed and on her own – can’t be too careful where her good reputation is concerned. You’ve only got to think about that widow from the other side of Farringdon Street. She’d got men calling all hours of the day and night, her and her daughter. Said she was interviewing lodgers.’ Nancy gave a disparaging sniff. ‘And that reminds me, I was telling my daughter about your Tilly taking up with that American over Christmas and she said that she could never fancy getting involved with a foreigner herself, and especially not an American, on account of them remaining neutral.’

‘Drew’s a lovely young man. The kind of young man any mother would be pleased to have making friends with her daughter,’ Olive informed Nancy, putting aside her own maternal concerns about the relationship, before adding briskly, ‘Excuse me, Nancy, but I’ve just remembered that I promised I’d call in at the vicarage to see Audrey Windle, and I don’t want to miss the lunchtime news on the wireless, so I’d better let you go and get on with your shopping on your own.’

Without giving her neighbour the opportunity to object Olive set off across the road, her cheeks pink with angry colour. It was one thing for Nancy to criticise her but she wasn’t having her criticising Tilly.

Audrey wasn’t in, but at least calling at the vicarage had given Olive the chance to escape from Nancy. She started to cross the road again and then stopped as she saw Mrs Dawson coming out of the front door to number 1. Knowing how reluctant Sergeant Dawson’s wife was to talk to anyone, Olive hesitated, not wanting to ignore her but not wanting either to make her feel uncomfortable. But then to her surprise, instead of walking away, as Olive had expected, Mrs Dawson crossed the road and came over to her.

‘I’m just going out to see if I can get a tin of Spam,’ she announced chattily. ‘Barney loves it fried with a bit of potato. It’s his favourite dinner.’

‘He’s settled in well then, and it’s all working out all right?’ Olive asked once she had overcome the shock of Mrs Dawson’s unfamiliar talkativeness.

‘Oh, yes. He’s ever so bright. Had me in tucks the other night, he did, imitating them from that ITMA programme on the wireless.’

‘It will be good to hear a child’s voice in Article Row again,’ Olive smiled. ‘It’s been so quiet with the Simpson children evacuated.’

‘Yes, it has, although my Archie says that quite a lot of them that was evacuated into the country to live with other families have been brought back by their mothers because they missed them so much.’

‘Yes, we’ve seen that through the WVS as well,’ Olive agreed, ‘although of course the Simpson children are with their mother, and she is with her parents. That makes a big difference.’

‘I’d better be on my way,’ Mrs Dawson said. ‘Archie forgot his sandwiches this morning so I’m going to call by the station and drop them off for him. I’ve told him that I’m not going to be able to run round after him now that I’ve got Barney to think about. He’s got to come first now. Oh, I can’t tell you the difference it makes having Barney living with us. I think that Archie assumed that it would be him and Barney that would pal up, but it’s me and Barney that have really hit it off. Of course, Archie says that’s just because I let Barney wind me round his little finger, but if a boy that’s gone through what he has doesn’t deserve a bit of spoiling then I don’t know who does.’

Olive nodded, but privately Mrs Dawson’s words had made her feel rather sorry for Archie Dawson. She must not be critical, though, she warned herself. The Dawsons – and especially Mrs Dawson – had had such a lot to bear, first with their son’s illness and then his death. Olive had worried a bit, when she’d first learned that the Dawsons were taking Barney in, that Mrs Dawson’s vulnerable emotional state might mean that she couldn’t cope with a healthy young boy in the house after the tragedy of her own son, but she’d obviously been wrong. Having Barney around had given Mrs Dawson a new lease of life, and she was pleased for her as well as for Barney himself, Olive reflected, as she headed for the shops.

‘Watch out, you’ll end up breaking that mug if you slam it down any harder,’ Sally told Dulcie, wincing. ‘What’s wrong with you, anyway?’ she asked. ‘You look as though you’ve lost a shilling and only found a penny. You’ve not had another row with Wilder, have you?’

It was common knowledge at number 13 that Dulcie’s relationship with Wilder was somewhat tempestuous.

‘Well, I dare say you wouldn’t be feeling too pleased yourself if your George had told you that he couldn’t get leave after promising to take you out somewhere special on Valentine’s Day.’

‘Well, Wilder is in uniform, Dulcie,’ Sally felt obliged to point out.

Dulcie’s scowl told her that her comment was not well received. ‘That’s as maybe, but he was able to get time off easily enough when he wanted to go to watch some silly boxing match last week. Of course, I know he wanted to take me somewhere special,’ she added hastily, ‘’cos he thinks a lot of me, Wilder does.’

Sally nodded. The truth was that she didn’t think that Wilder thought very much of anyone other than himself, but she knew that beneath her sharp exterior Dulcie had an unexpected vulnerability, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

‘A fine thing it’s going to be, me having to say that I had to stay in on Valentine’s Day when everyone else at work is talking about where they went,’ Dulcie continued.

Sally looked at her. ‘Well, if you’re at a loose end you could always come to Sussex with me for the weekend,’ she told her. ‘They’re having a dance at the hospital on Saturday for those patients who are well enough to attend. George was saying only the last time I spoke to him that they’re short of girls to partner the men. There’s two single beds in the room where I’m staying. I’m sure Mrs Hodges, the landlady, won’t mind you using the spare bed.’

‘What? Me go to some hospital to dance with sick men?’ Dulcie demanded scornfully. ‘I’d have to be hard up before I’d want to do something like that.’

Repressing her instinctive urge to let Dulcie see what she really thought of her callousness, Sally mentally counted to ten, and then told her firmly, ‘Well, it’s up to you, of course, Dulcie. I’d be the last person to suggest that you sacrifice having a good time to benefit anyone else, but those poor boys have been through an awful lot – and lost an awful lot – for our sakes, you know. They are always so grateful to have visitors. They’d be especially grateful to have the opportunity to dance with a girl as pretty as you. Of course, if you’re thinking that Wilder might not approve …’ she added craftily.

‘Huh, it’s not up to him to approve of what I decide to do. I’m perfectly capable of making up my own mind about that, thank you very much.’ Privately after what Sally had said, Dulcie was thinking that it might not be a bad idea to be able to tell Wilder truthfully that she had gone to a dance without him and been asked to dance by scores of smitten young men. That would teach him not to use his leave to go to boxing matches instead of taking her out.

‘All right then,’ she told Sally grudgingly. ‘I’ll go but if Wilder finds out that he can get leave after all, I’ll have to change my mind,’ she warned.

‘That’s fine,’ Sally agreed. Whilst George had told her how keen the hospital was to get girls to attend the Saturday night dance they were giving for their patients, she suspected that Dulcie wasn’t exactly the kind of girl he had had in mind. She hardly had the milk of human kindness flowing through her veins. As Sally had seen for herself on her first visit to the hospital the previous month, some of the men were terribly badly disfigured from the injuries they had suffered, so much so in some cases that their own relatives refused to visit them. It was too late now, though, for her to regret having made her impulsive suggestion.

On Valentine’s Day Tilly was up early, wishing that the morning wasn’t so dark and that she could watch for the postman’s arrival from her bedroom window.

However, when she went downstairs, she discovered that she had had her own personal postal delivery because there was a card lying on the hall floor with her name on it but without a postage stamp, showing that Drew must have posted his card to her on his way to work. Smiling happily, Tilly hugged the card to her.

On her own way downstairs, Olive watched her. It didn’t seem so very long ago that she had been the one to secretly send her daughter a Valentine’s card. Now Tilly had no need of such maternal care, because she had Drew. Olive could remember how she herself had felt on receiving that precious first Valentine’s card from Tilly’s father: the excitement; the longing; the shared stolen kisses. What was that ache in her heart? What was wrong with her? She was thirty-seven and not a girl any more.

No, she wasn’t a girl but she was a mother, she reminded herself as she followed Tilly into the kitchen, thinking sadly as she did so that these days she and Tilly were hardly ever alone together. Was Tilly avoiding being alone with her because she knew that her mother was concerned about the growing intensity of her relationship with Drew?

‘From Drew?’ Olive asked, nodding her head in the direction of the card Tilly was still clutching to her chest as she followed her into the kitchen.

‘Yes,’ Tilly acknowledged happily. She wasn’t going to open her card until she was on her own. Reading Drew’s first Valentine’s card to her was something very special and very private.

Olive started to fill the kettle and then stopped, turning round to put it down and look at her daughter.

‘Tilly, I hope you haven’t forgotten what I said to you about you being so young and—’

‘I’m old enough to know how I feel about Drew, Mum,’ Tilly stopped her mother immediately. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have – not today on Valentine’s Day, when all she wanted to think about was Drew and their love for one another.

Olive could feel her heart thumping.

‘You’re eighteen, Tilly, that’s all, and there’s a war on.’

‘Exactly,’ Tilly shot back. ‘I’m eighteen and there’s a war on. Boys my age are joining up to fight and die for this country, Mum, just like my dad did. If Drew was one of them I—’

She broke off as the kitchen door opened and Agnes came in, her face pink as she clutched a white envelope. ‘The postman’s just been,’ she beamed, breathless with an innocent happiness that for Olive contrasted painfully sharply with Tilly’s hostility towards her.

Now wasn’t the time to talk rationally to her daughter, Olive recognised.

Later, when the girls had all left for their respective jobs, as she put away the washed and dried breakfast things and then set about sweeping the kitchen floor as she listened to more of Elsie and Doris Waters’ Home Hints on the wireless, Olive reflected that all she wanted to do was protect her daughter, and it hurt her that Tilly couldn’t see that. It was a pity that she had agreed to be on WVS mobile canteen duty tonight to fill in for a colleague from another branch of their organisation, before her regular WVS meeting, Olive reflected. Now she would have preferred to remain here at home so that she could mend things with Tilly before she went out for the evening. The last thing she wanted was her passionate and sometimes headstrong young daughter going out in a rebellious mood, and with discord between them. Despite what Tilly seemed to want to believe, Olive could remember perfectly well how it felt to be young and in love on Valentine’s Day.

It had, after all, been on the evening of Valentine’s Day that Tilly’s father, Jim, had proposed to her.

Without realising she had done so, Olive stopped sweeping, her gaze clouding with memories as she clasped the handle of her brush.

There had been no special meal out for her and Jim the night he had proposed. He’d arrived home on leave unexpectedly, and she’d found him waiting patiently in the rain for her outside the small clothing company where she’d been taken on as a machinist. He’d had a bit of a cough even then, she remembered. They’d been walking out together for just over a year. She’d met him through one of the other girls at the factory whose brother he’d been on leave with. She’d liked him right from the start. Tall, and handsome, and with the kindest eyes and smile she’d ever seen, he’d made her feel so safe with him and so proud to be his girl, even if his parents, especially his mother, had thought that he could do better for himself and hadn’t really approved of her, left orphaned as a teenager and with no family of her own to support her. It had brought her so much joy to see him standing outside the factory, smoking a Woodbine as he waited for her, the collar of his army greatcoat turned up against the drizzle, that she had felt as though the sun had come out. He’d brought her a Valentine’s card that he bought for her in Paris. She still had it upstairs, along with the letters he had written her. As if in a dream, Olive leaned her sweeping brush against the table and headed for the stairs.

Upstairs in her bedroom she kneeled down on the floor to pull Jim’s battered suitcase from underneath her bed. Since Olive kept a spotless house there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on the case, the familiar lock clicking open beneath her fingers. Fingers that trembled slightly as though she were still that young girl he had courted with so much love and tenderness. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done this, Olive acknowledged as she opened the case.

Inside it was Jim’s greatcoat and the medal he had received for his bravery in the field. ‘Everyone gets them, if they live long enough,’ he had told her. There had been so much pain in his eyes on that leave home – his last before the end of the war. She’d found out later from his nightmares that he’d been the only member of his platoon to survive when the trench they were in had come under attack, and that he’d stayed with two of his dying fellow soldiers until the end rather than make his own escape. That had been Jim all over, always thinking of others before himself. It had been the gas from those attacks that had damaged his lungs, which had ultimately led to his death. The man who had come home to her after the war had been a shadow of the young man with whom she had fallen in love, but today it wasn’t that sick dying Jim she wanted to remember. Today she wanted to remember the handsome young soldier who had brought her a Valentine’s card from Paris, and with it a special bottle of scent.

Very carefully Olive folded back Jim’s greatcoat, smoothing the front of the fabric, much as she had smoothed Jim’s poor damaged chest in those last awful months and weeks of his life.

Beneath the coat, carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tied in blue satin ribbon, were the letters he had written to her and the cards he had sent her.

That special Valentine’s card, though, wasn’t with the others. Instead it was in the box in which she had received it – a lovely silver-coloured box with a red satin heart on the front of it and the words ‘To my Sweetheart’ written on it.

Was it her imagination or did even the box still smell of foreign places and war? For a moment tears blurred Olive’s eyes as she opened the box to reveal the card inside it. On top of a delicate cream lace underlay, hand-painted pink and blue flowers on their green stems twined all round the red satin heart decorated with tiny seed pearls at the centre of the card. Inside there was a small verse: ‘Here is my love, from a heart that’s true. A true blue heart that beats just for you.’

Jim had told her that there was a shop in Paris that sold cards made especially for the British servicemen to send home to their girls. Olive’s hand shook, a tear rolling down her face. Quickly she brushed it away, her desire to protect her precious memento overcoming her emotions.

What was she doing up here behaving like this? She was far too old for this kind of silliness. And too old to sometimes miss and long for the comfort of a protective loving pair of male arms to hold her, for that special something that a loving couple shared?

Yes. She really didn’t know what was getting into her these days, Olive berated herself, as she replaced the card in its box and put it back in the case, closing it and pushing it back under the bed.