Читать книгу All the Sweet Promises - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 10

Monday evening, warm and bright. Eight days since the invasion of Russia, with the German divisions thrusting far and deep, said the announcer who read the six o’clock news, trapping thousands of Soviets west of Minsk.

It was terrible to imagine, Jane brooded, what might have happened had Hitler chosen to invade the British Isles instead of the Soviet Union. What had influenced that choice? Fate, had it been, or the flippant tossing of a coin? Or was it something more deep and sinister? Hitler believed in the occult, it was said; could the stars, then, have been responsible for so tremendous a decision? Was it possible for a man who had goose-stepped his hordes over half the world, almost, to be so naïve?

And when he was done with Russia, what then? Would London be his next prize or would he rest content with all he had taken and let the war settle into an uneasy stalemate?

But this must stop! It was unpatriotic even to think such things. Hitler would never take London. For the time being, the possibility of invasion had lessened. The German war machine was wholly occupied with the total subjugation of Russia, giving the shattered British Army time to heal its Dunkirk wounds and start thirsting for revenge. We would win. Alone and battered as we were, of course we would. Somehow, we always did. But how long, she mourned, would it take and how many shining young lives would be snuffed out before the price was finally settled?

‘What’s to do, queen? Lost a shillin’ and found a meg?’

‘No, Vi. I was thinking about – about going to Lilith’s. We will go,’ she said as they got up from the supper table. ‘You said you would,’ she urged, when doubt showed at once on Vi’s face. ‘You did, Vi, and it’s only fun, isn’t it?’

‘Well, just as long as that’s all it is.’ Vi hesitated. Only yesterday she had attended Confession and Mass in Craigiebur and was reluctant to blot her clean copybook so soon after. ‘As long as we’re all agreed it’s only for laughs.’ She was wavering. She wanted to talk to Lilith again. She would have dismissed that message without another thought had it not been for one word. Girl. No one could have known about that. ‘What about you, Lucinda?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out.’ Lucinda’s cheeks flushed crimson. ‘I’ve – er – got something on tonight. And before anybody says anything, I couldn’t get out of it.’

‘Nothin’ to do with us.’ Vi’s face showed very plainly that even though she didn’t wear a ring, a girl who was engaged and who might well be getting married on her next leave should not have anything on, so to speak.

‘Well, I’m telling you, Vi, so you can stop looking like Nanny. It’s Molly’s date, really – Molly from the teleprinter room – but she’s in sick bay so I said I’d sort it out for her.’

‘I see.’

‘No you don’t.’ Vi even sounded like Nanny, Lucinda thought. ‘Molly had a vaccination and she looked awful. Her arm was red and swollen and she was obviously running a temperature. So the signal bosun said she’d better see the MO and he asked Lofty to listen out for me so I could go with her.’

That much made sense, Jane agreed. Another peculiar naval custom. Wren ratings shall not attend the ship’s doctor without a female chaperone.

‘Well, she saw the surgeon-lieutenant and he sent her to sick bay ashore until her temperature is down. But she had a date – a blind date, actually. Some man who’d come up on her teleprinter the other night and asked her to meet him. Name of Nick, she said, and she was to meet him at Craigiebur jetty at half-past seven. She asked me to go along and explain. She was quite bothered about it. I couldn’t refuse, could I?’

‘No,’ Vi agreed. ‘I don’t suppose you could. A sailor, is he?’

‘Think so. From Roseneath, Molly said, so it’s quite a way to come. I don’t think she knew a lot more. Well, it is a blind date and I shan’t make a habit of it, so you needn’t look so disapproving, Vi McKeown.’

‘Sorry, queen. Didn’t mean to.’ Vi grinned. ‘So that leaves you and me, Jane, unless you’re goin’ somewhere.’

‘Me? Oh, no.’ The reply was instant. ‘I’m going to cabin 10. There’s so much I need to ask.’

‘Hey! For fun, we said,’ Vi warned.

‘All right. I give you my word I won’t take it seriously. It’s just that it was a bit much, that seven coming up like that. I’ve got to try again. You do understand?’

Vi understood. Like the word girl, it was too much of a coincidence to go unchallenged. And Lilith Penrose wasn’t a bad sort. There was something decent about her, in spite of her peculiar beliefs, Vi conceded. And what Lilith believed was her own business. It was a free country, after all, and wasn’t free countries what this war was all about?

‘What about you, Lucinda? What time will you be back?’

‘About eight, I suppose. I’ve only to explain about Molly. Shouldn’t take long.’

Craigiebur, thought Lucinda, must once have been a pleasant place. Small, with hills on three sides, it was easy to imagine the summer holidaymakers arriving from Clydeside on the peacetime ferries. Now, the beach was desolate, criss-crossed with coils of barbed wire, and most of the seafront hotels and boarding houses had been requisitioned for Army and Navy personnel or for government offices evacuated from Glasgow.

She looked at her watch. The evening ferry was approaching, and right on time too; the ferry they had missed last Sunday. Was it really only a week ago they had missed it; just a week since Vi had refused to be put out about it and had kept their spirits up during that cold, uncomfortable night?

Vi. It was as if they had always known her. Vi of the ready smile, who had lost everything. Motherly Vi, who called everybody queen and who said gale for girl and had a sister Murry in Ormscake. Dear, lovely Vi, who would give short shrift to any of Mama’s moods. Lucinda laughed inside.

And what about poor Jane, who had looked so pale and ill last Sunday night? Surely there must be a way to help her find Rob’s mother. Why, even now she might have heard that her son had made it home again. Aircrews who bailed out over occupied Europe did get back, though little about it was released by the censors. Charlie said there was a lot going on in the occupied countries that the ordinary British public knew nothing about. Charlie said that – Charlie. Oh, dear. Here she was, waiting for a sailor called Nick who was already fifteen minutes late. Whatever would Charlie make of that, if he knew? Smiling just to think of it, she concentrated on the ferry, which was now making a half-turn, slowing and swinging to come in port side on to the jetty.

It occurred to her that Nick could be on that ferry. She should wait a little longer. There were plenty of reasons for his lateness. She would wait until eight o’clock. Nick had quite a distance to come; she owed him that much.

By eight o’clock the ferry had come alongside and all the passengers disembarked. Soldiers and sailors and ATS girls and Wrens returning from leave, a few civilians and a kilted Scot with a goat trotting amiably behind him on a lead. Now the jetty was empty save for a Post Office van collecting sacks of mail, and of Nick there was no sign – unless he was the man in RAF uniform looking at his watch as if he just might be waiting for someone. Should she ask him? Dare she? Did she really have a choice? Straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat, she walked up to him.

‘Excuse me, sir’ – well he was an officer – ‘are you Nick?’ The colour flamed in her cheeks. ‘Nick who’s meeting Molly at half-past seven?’

‘Well, if I am I’m unforgivably late, honey. And I’m not Nick, though I sure wish I was. You’re Molly, uh?’

‘No, I’m Lucinda. It’s a bit complicated. I’m here because Molly is ill. I think I’ll have to give up and go.’

‘Me too. Er, Mavis – that’s my date – isn’t going to show, it seems. Guess we’ve both been stood up.’

‘Guess we have. Aren’t you a Canadian?’

‘Getting near. American. Michael Johnson Farrow, from Vermont, New England.’

‘Lucinda Bainbridge, from Lincolnshire, old England.’ Smiling, she took the extended hand. And that, really, was when she should have said it was nice meeting him and wished him goodbye and run to catch the Ardneavie transport which was just now pulling away. But she didn’t, because she was curious about him and, besides, he was still holding her hand.

‘Forgive me,’ she smiled, ‘but what is an American doing in the RAF? This isn’t your war. Why did you come?’

‘Now that,’ he smiled, ‘is best related over a couple of drinks.’

‘Drinks, sir? On a Scottish Sunday?’

‘They’ll serve us at my hotel, no bother. And it does seem like Nick and Mavis aren’t going to show …’

‘Seems like it. And I’d be glad to have a drink with you – if you can get one.’

Sorry, Charlie, but he’s a long way from home. And tomorrow, just to make up for her fall from grace, she silently promised, she would write to Charlie again, even though he hadn’t replied to the letter she sent him a week ago. And wasn’t there a war on and wasn’t life far too short to worry about a couple of drinks? Seemed mean, actually, to refuse. She smiled into Michael Farrow’s eyes. ‘Very glad,’ she said.

Lilith was waiting as if she had known they would come. Fenny, setting out the table, smiled a welcome. Connie, chin on knees, sat on the window seat, staring out over the loch.

‘Want to join us, Con?’

‘No, thanks. You know I’m no good at it.’

‘That’s because you don’t believe; it makes you a disruptive influence. Or is it that you’re afraid of what the glass might tell you?’ Lilith chided softly.

‘Oh, leave me alone, can’t you! You’re always on at me. You’ve got your knife into Johnny and you won’t let it rest. Why can’t you take my word for it that he’s all right?’

‘Because I’m older and wiser than you are, Connie Dean, and I feel responsible for you, though heaven knows why I should. And why aren’t you seeing him tonight?’

‘Because he’s watch aboard, that’s why. And while you’re playing your silly game, why don’t you ask it why you’re such an interfering old bat?’ She jumped to her feet, tears trembling in her voice. ‘I’m going downstairs to listen to the wireless, and if you don’t mind your own business I’ll tell Ma’am what goes on up here, just see if I don’t!’

Choking on her sobs, she slammed out, leaving behind her a disbelieving silence.

‘Ar, hey, Lilith.’ Vi found her voice. ‘Weren’t you a bit hard on the kid?’

‘I don’t think so. And Johnny Jones isn’t on watch tonight. He came ashore on the early liberty boat. I saw him. It’s my belief he’s avoiding her and it’s got her worried. And don’t get me wrong, Vi. I get no satisfaction seeing her so miserable.’

‘Don’t upset yourself,’ Fenny soothed. ‘You aren’t Connie’s keeper.’

‘You’re right. Connie’s a big girl but it doesn’t stop me worrying, especially as I know there’s trouble ahead for her. And tears.’

‘Yes, and deep down she knows it too, Lilith. But isn’t there something you want to ask Vi?’

‘There is,’ Lilith smiled. ‘I want to know about the man who sent you the birthday message. He was close, I know that much. I think you are married to him.’

Unspeaking, Vi nodded.

‘Tell me his name. It’s better if I know.’ Lilith’s voice was gentle.

‘His name is Gerry and when he – when he died he was on the SS Emma Bates. Torpedoed.’

‘And do you have anything belonging to him? Something I could hold?’

‘No, queen. All we ever had between us was blown to smithereens in the bombin’. I’ve got some pictures and his last letter, but they’re at my sister’s. Sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter, but if I can hold an object I get better vibrations, you see. Often I can tell if that person is alive or not. It might have been worth a try.’

‘Gerry was lost at sea at the end of April. I don’t think there’s much hope, now. I’d like to think there was, but I’ll have to be like our mam and learn to accept what I can’t do nothin’ about. It’s better that way, in the end.’

‘But won’t you try? I get such strong feelings about you, Vi. You won’t believe it, but you are a medium,’ Lilith urged. ‘He’d come through so easily to you if you’d only let him.’

‘You owe it to him,’ Fenny urged.

She did, Vi brooded. If Gerry were crying out in Purgatory then it was her duty to help him, and be blowed to Father O’Flaherty’s wrath.

‘I don’t know what to do, Lilith. Your religion’s new to me. I can’t believe that the dead ever come back to us – well, only Our Lord, that is. But I’ll try. Just this once.’

‘Good. You won’t regret it. Shall we sit down? Lucinda’s not here, I see. Not that she’s any great help. Her vibrations are minus! She hasn’t come alive yet, though she’ll be quite a girl when she does. But it’s Gerry who’s important now. I feel he’s got something to say.’ Lilith handed the glass to Vi. ‘Speak into it. Ask it whatever you want to know.’

Hesitantly, Vi took the wine glass, cupping it in her hands as Jane had done, her heart thudding dully, embarrassment staining her cheeks. And then it was as if the glass suddenly shone and sparkled, just as the Cape Town goblets shone and sparkled; it seemed she was holding a telephone receiver and all she had to do was speak into it, to Gerry. Sighing gently, she closed her eyes.

‘Glass, please tell me about my husband. Tell me he didn’t suffer none and tell me he’s at peace. And if you can, tell him thanks for remembering my birthday and tell him that I love him. Be sure and tell him that, won’t you?’

Gently Lilith took the glass, upending it on the table and four fingers reached out to touch it. Slowly, it began to move; firmly and surely it spelled out a word.

‘No!’ Vi snatched back her hand. ‘What does it mean?’ Tears filled her eyes. She had felt so close to Gerry yet now the glass mocked her.

‘Hush. Be still, Vi.’ Lilith’s arms circled her shoulders.

‘How can I be? I wanted to know that he died gently. I wanted him to be at peace. I needed him to tell me so, yet all I get is letter. What’s it playing at? How do you send a letter to a man what’s dead?’

She covered her face with her hands, stifling her sobs, sucking in gulps of air. Loudly she blew her nose then brushed away the tears that wet her cheeks. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. Suppose that thing doesn’t work for Cath’lics, eh? Why don’t you have a go, Jane? See if you can get some sense out of it.’

‘Vi, I’m so sorry. I wanted to try again but I won’t, not if it upsets you.’ Though mingled with disappointment, Jane’s compassion was real.

‘It won’t upset me, queen.’ Vi’s cockeyed grin was back. ‘But that’s my lot. I’m not doin’ it no more but I’ll sit in for you, if you want me to.’

‘You don’t mind? Honestly?’

‘’Course I don’t. Go on. Give the old glass a rub.’ Wipe my tears off it, Jane, and my hopes, she thought. Only St Jude can help me now. Poor, hard-worked St Jude, who gets landed with the hopeless cases. ‘Go on, luv. Get goin’.’

Tenderly Jane polished the glass with her handkerchief then lifted it to her lips. ‘Rob, my darling, send me hope. I’ll wait for ever for you, but say we’ll meet again, soon.’

Carefully, reverently almost, she placed the glass in the centre of the table. Slowly, reluctantly, it moved from letter to letter. Jenny. Forget.

Frowning, Lilith spelled out the letters. ‘Who’s Jenny?’

‘I am. Rob called me Jenny, but it’s all wrong. He wouldn’t say that. The padre at the aerodrome said it but Rob wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.’

‘Now listen, both of you. You’ve been upset tonight and I’m sorry. But please trust me.’ Lilith reached across the table, taking a hand from each, holding them tightly as if to pass on something of herself. ‘Please, I beg you, have faith. Don’t give up. I wouldn’t ask it of you if there wasn’t hope.’

‘I know, queen, an’ I’m sorry I made a fool of meself. I’m a daft ha’p’orth and I know you mean well, Lilith. No hard feelings,’ Vi whispered, ‘but that’s me finished.’

‘Well, I’m not giving up. Rob is alive, I know it,’ Jane choked. ‘He’s somewhere in Europe, trying to get home, and I won’t take forget for an answer. I won’t.’

‘And you won’t be upset, either of you? This is only a setback, remember.’

‘Don’t worry. We’re goin’ downstairs to listen to Tommy Handley and the nine o’clock news.’ Vi was herself again, already accepting that which she had no power to change. It was Jane she grieved for; Jane who so fiercely resisted Fate, who would never accept that anything could touch her first, precious love. ‘And d’you know what? One of these days we’re goin’ to switch on that wireless and the man’s goin’ to tell us it’s all over, just you see if he isn’t.’ One of these days.

Lucinda took off her hat, placed it with her respirator beneath her chair then gave her full, unblinking attention to the American pilot who stood at the bar. Michael Johnson Farrow was tall and good-looking. Devastatingly good-looking. Even the scar that ran from eye to jaw on his left cheek only added to his attractiveness. His eyes were blue, shaded by thick dark lashes and as sharp as his film-star features. Michael Farrow, she decided, was not a man to tangle with; the jut of his jaw told her that. Michael Farrow was a man who would get what he wanted – if he wanted it badly enough. He limped a little, too, though like most of the war’s wounded, he went to great pains to hide those injuries, received in another country’s war.

Lucinda smiled serenely. It was good that she could look at this man so dispassionately yet find him so exciting. Strange that belonging to Charlie gave her protection in a peculiar sort of way; an immunity kind of, against falling in love. Thus protected, she could admire, desire, even wonder what it would be like to be loved, really loved by him, yet feel no guilt for her wanton thoughts. Being engaged to Charlie protected her from herself, too, and it was rather nice, she acknowledged, to have such unfaithful, unladylike fancies, yet not feel one iota of guilt. She’d like to bet he was a good dancer, too; the build of him guaranteed it. And when he danced, his hold would be firm and intimate, and when he kissed it would be hard and gentle, both at the same time. And dry, she shouldn’t wonder. Not like the way Charlie did it. Charlie sometimes slobbered when he kissed her. She really must speak to him about it, once they were married. Surely there was something he could take for it.

‘Say, honey.’ Michael Farrow turned, smiling. ‘No gin. No bourbon. No wine.’

‘Oh!’ She blushed bright red and rid her head at once of such wanton thoughts. Whatever next! She’d be wondering what he’d look like undressed, or something equally delightful. ‘Beer, then?’

‘Tepid or warm?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Tepid bitter, coming up.’ He placed two glasses on the table then sat down opposite. ‘Now, Lucinda Bainbridge, tell me all about yourself.’

‘I was about to ask the same of you, sir.’

‘Well, for a start you can cut out the “sir” and call me Mike like most guys do, and I’ll call you Lucy. Lucinda’s a bit stiff – upper class, sort of – though you are upper class, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you speak.’

‘I – I don’t think I’m any class, really. I’m a Wren and I wear the same uniform and get exactly the same pay as all the other Wrens. And as for the way I speak –’

‘Kind of clipped, and brittle. I’m getting real good at picking out accents now. Mind, the further north I get the harder it is.’

‘You’d have fun with Vi, then. She’s from Liverpool. “Ar, hey, Loocinda, yer don’t arf talk luv’ly. Just like a frewt.” Fruit, you know. She’s a darling. But tell me about you? Just what is an American doing in our air force? How did you manage it? And why?’

‘How is easy. I crossed the border into Canada, walked into a recruiting office, told them I wanted in on their war and they said, “Okay, buster, sign here!” Then I did my training in Canada, got my wings, got a commission and came over here. They posted me to a fighter squadron in Digby.’

‘But that’s in Lincolnshire!’

‘Sure is.’

‘You make it sound very simple. Now tell me why, Mike. You didn’t have to come. This is our war, not America’s.’

‘I came, I guess’ – embarrassed, he looked down at his glass – ‘because I don’t like people being pushed around. That, and because I have an English granny. And because I’m a bloody fool …’

‘But a very nice bloody fool. It makes me feel all warm inside when someone cares about us.’ Her fingertips traced the length of his scar. ‘How did you get that?’

‘I got posted south with the squadron last June after Dunkirk. Me and my Hurricane had a tangle with a Messerschmitt. He won, I bailed out. Haven’t flown since, though I reckon they’ll pass me fit again before long. Y’know, Lucy, I felt real bad about this scar. I’d take a look at myself and think, “Jesus. What a mess!” I thought everyone must be looking at it. But then you touch it and talk about it like it’s not all that important. Sure it doesn’t turn you off?’

‘Why should it? I’ve seen a whole lot worse.’ No need to tell him about her airmen and their poor, burned faces. ‘But we were talking about this crazy American who flies a fighter for the British.’

‘I’d rather talk about you, Lucy.’ He picked up her left hand. ‘No rings?’

‘No rings, Mike.’ Sorry, Charlie, but I don’t have a ring, do I, though that isn’t strictly what he means.

‘Tell me, Lucy Bainbridge, why didn’t we meet when I was stationed at Digby?’

‘Because Lincolnshire’s a big county and anyway, my family left to live in London.’

‘Where, in London?’

‘Bruton Street. It’s near Berkeley Square.’

‘Say, that’s where the nightingales sing!’

‘Do they? Well, I suppose they might, sometimes,’ she teased.

‘Ever heard them, Lucy?’

‘Never. Only sparrows.’

‘Okay. Tell you what, why don’t we give it a try? Next time I’ve got some leave, you and me can meet in London and we’ll sit real quiet in the blackout and listen for those nightingales, uh?’

‘Idiot! And I don’t have leave due until September.’

‘Okay. I’ll take mine in September, too. I’m only stooging around at training bases till they pass me fit for flying again. I’ll be able to fix it.’

‘September’s a long time away. We live day to day in this war, but I don’t have to tell you that, do I? You’re wearing a medal ribbon so you probably know more about it than I do. Let’s just talk about now.’

‘Suits me.’ He took her other hand. ‘We’ll talk about a guy called Nick who didn’t show and who has my heartfelt thanks. And we’ll talk about you and me, honey, who were meant to meet.’

‘Ships meet, Mike, and pass …’

‘Not you and me, Lucy.’ Hell, but it couldn’t end here, tonight. There was so much to say, so much he needed to know about her. He’d always figured he’d take the war in his stride, stay heart-whole till it was over, then go home and find himself a good New England girl like everyone expected he would. But this Lucy Bainbridge was different. Right now he wanted more than anything to dance with her, feel her closeness. And as they danced, he reckoned, those ridiculous blonde curls would be just about level with his chin. ‘Say, is there any place we can dance tonight?’

‘In Scotland? On a Sunday?’

‘But you do like dancing?’ Hell, she’d just got to!

‘I love it.’ She always had, but now she accepted that one of the crosses she must for ever bear was the problem of Charlie’s feet, both of which gave him trouble the instant he placed them upon a dance floor. Charlie danced in beelines and did a marching turn whenever it was necessary to change direction. Nor did the turns and beelines ever vary. Quicksteps, rumbas and waltzes were all alike. Poor, dear Charlie. She should be feeling guilty sitting here like this, holding hands with a stranger, but she didn’t, because having a drink with a man who had come from America to fight for us and got himself wounded for his pains and been given a Distinguished Flying Cross was no more than her bounden duty.

‘You do, Lucy? Then what say we make a date right now? How about tomorrow? There’s a dance hall here in Craigiebur, isn’t there? Half-past seven suit you?’

‘Half-past seven will be fine.’

‘At the jetty – same place.’

He was still holding her hands and she didn’t care. She didn’t give a damn, in fact. One, just one night spent dancing with an American from Vermont, New England, was little to ask in return for a lifetime of beelines and marching turns.

‘Lovely. I’ll look forward to it, Mike. But what about your date? What if you were to meet Mavis at the dance, I mean?’

‘We-e-ll.’ He rubbed his chin ruefully and his smile, she thought, was sheer bliss. ‘Truth is, there isn’t a Mavis – not here, that is.’

‘She’s your girl, back home?’

‘My girl?’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Y’see, Lucy, it’s like this. When you said about Nick not turning up, I came out with the first name that came into my head. I wasn’t waiting for anyone. I’d been killing time watching a submarine go out – and watching you waiting there. When you came up to me I couldn’t believe my luck.’

‘Then who is Mavis?’

‘Mavis,’ the smile widened, ‘is my aunt Adeline’s parrot.’

‘A parrot! Called Mavis? Oh, Mike!’ Laughing with him, she held up her glass. ‘Here’s to Mavis.’

‘And to Nick. God bless ’em both!’

‘You awake, Vi?’ Wren Bainbridge, shoes in hand and two hours adrift, pushed open the door of cabin 9.

‘Lucinda! Where the ’ell have you been?’

‘Sorry, Vi. I tried not to waken you.’

‘Waken my flamin’ foot! D’you know what time it is?’

‘Actually – er – yes. Is the blackout all right? Can I switch the light on?’

‘Go ahead.’ Jane’s bedsprings creaked. ‘We weren’t asleep, either of us. Vi was certain you’d suffered a fate worse than death. You’re lucky the pier patrol didn’t catch you. What happened?’

‘Nothing happened. We talked and talked and I missed the last transport.’ Lucinda hung up her jacket then unknotted her tie. ‘Lord, my feet! We walked all the way back. I suppose I’m in trouble?’

‘Not unless anybody saw you coming in. We told the duty Wren you were in the bathroom when she did last rounds. How did you get in, by the way?’

‘I remembered what you said about the pantry window, then came up the back stairs. And bless you both for fixing it for me. Mike was really concerned.’

‘Mike?’ Vi frowned. ‘I thought his name was Nick.’

‘Sorry. Must have got it wrong. His name is Michael Farrow, actually, and he’s in the Air Force.’ Best not explain too much. Blind dates were one thing; being picked up by an American was altogether another. Or had she picked him up? ‘He – he’s stationed at Machrihanish and he’s very nice, Vi. Truly he is.’

‘No business of mine who you go out with,’ Vi grumbled, ‘and for Pete’s sake get yourself into bed or we’ll all be in the rattle. Y’know, I seem to remember you said eight o’clock. What really kept you, Lucinda?’

‘Nothing, honestly. I just felt sorry for him, that’s all. Wounded, and all that way from home. Actually, he’s an American.’

‘A Yank? What the ’eck’s he doin’ in our war?’

‘I really don’t know. I suppose he has his reasons. Said he didn’t like seeing people pushed around.’ Lucinda pulled on her pyjamas. ‘Anyway, I think it’s extremely noble of him to join in the scrap with us and that’s why I said I’d go out with him again.’

‘Again?’ Vi cocked an eyebrow. ‘And what would your Charlie say to that, if he knew?’

‘He won’t know. Mike is in Craigiebur on a seventy-two-hour leave pass. He’ll be going back to Machrihanish early Tuesday and that’ll be the end of it.’

‘Ar, hey, come off it, queen. Machrihanish isn’t the other end of the world. A feller that’s come all the way from America can find his way back to Ardneavie, no bother at all!’

‘Vi! I said I won’t be seeing him again after tomorrow night and I won’t.’

‘That’s all right then, isn’t it? I bet you didn’t tell him you were engaged, though.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Why ever should she? What a fuss Vi was making. After tomorrow night it would be all over, wouldn’t it? And was she expected to live like a nun when the war might go on for years and years? ‘And I didn’t ask if he was engaged, either. Oh, Vi, it’s all right. I promise you it is.’

‘Look, queen, you don’t have to answer to me. What you do is your own business. But be careful, eh?’

‘I will. I really will. And thanks for getting me off the hook. It was awfully sweet of you both.’

Parts of this war, thought Lucinda as she snapped off the light and got into bed, were really rather nice. Since leaving home she had met such lovely girls: Vi, Jane, Molly, cabin ten and the lovely duty Wren who had turned a blind eye to the unlocked pantry window. She really was most grateful to Goddy for getting her into the Wrens. In years to come she would look back on it all with affection, and surely just a little freedom before she settled down wasn’t all that much to ask. Tonight had been fun, and tomorrow night would be even better.

Her toes wriggled in anticipation of a night spent dancing with Michael Johnson Farrow, the second of his names given for Alice Johnson, his beloved English grandmother who had gone to America as a governess when Queen Victoria was on the throne, and though she had married a citizen of the United States and never returned to the country of her birth, even to visit, she had steadfastly clung to her Englishness. A very stubborn lady, it would seem, and Mike was a chip off the old block, Lucinda smiled, one who liked having his own way. Like tonight, for instance, when he had flatly refused to let her hitch a lift back to Ardneavie and insisted on walking the whole three miles with her.

‘But Mike, your leg …’

‘Aw, to hell with my leg. The MO said it needed exercise and, anyway, you’re not supposed to notice it, honey.’

So she had left him at the pantry window and begged him to take it easy on the walk back, but he had laughed and told her not to be late tomorrow night.

Tomorrow. Seven-thirty, at the jetty and, oh dear, what would Charlie say to that, if he knew? Vi had implied he might not like it and probably she was right, but she wouldn’t mind betting, Lucinda pondered sleepily, that Charlie had the odd date or two. Charlie had fun, and he’d probably go on having fun long after they were married – which would be all right, she supposed, as long as he did it discreetly.

And tomorrow night she too would be discreet and thoroughly well-behaved, and when it was over she would offer her hand to Mike and wish him luck and she wouldn’t even kiss him goodbye.

She sighed and closed her eyes, and her lips tilted into a smile of pure contentment.

A parrot called Mavis, indeed …