Violet was hoping she could shut the shop dead on time, if not even five minutes early, when the doorbell rang and Mrs Delaney came in, her eyes sharp and critical as ever. Vera Delaney had been one of Winnie Kennedy’s close friends, and the two of them had spent many hours together, pulling apart the character of everyone they knew. This was back in the days when it had been Winnie’s shop, and she’d spent her time indulging her beloved son Charlie and making his wife Rita’s life merry hell. Thankfully both Winnie and Charlie were no more and Rita was now happily married to Jack. Vera Delaney still popped in regularly, though, much to Violet’s regret. She forced herself to smile in welcome but she couldn’t stand the woman.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Delaney. Well, almost evening. How can I help you?’
Vera sniffed. ‘No Rita today, then?’
Violet kept her smile in place with an effort. It was a small shop – it wasn’t as if Rita could be hiding anywhere. ‘No, she’s still taking it a bit easy now she’s got the baby. She’s over at Kitty’s.’
Vera nodded, as if this confirmed what was wrong with the world at large. ‘So she’s back, is she. I’d heard as much.’ She tugged at the sleeves of her jacket, and Violet could see the cuffs were frayed and heavily darned.
‘Yes, Kitty’s been posted back home,’ Violet told her. ‘Isn’t that lucky?’
‘Lucky? Is that what they call it?’ Vera’s expression would have curdled milk. ‘Bad luck for anyone who has to work with her, I’d say. Terrible family, those Callaghans. Their father was a dreadful one for the drink, you know – well, you might not know, being as what you aren’t from these parts, but he was a disgrace, wandering down the street half-cut at all hours, and those kids running about in rags.’
‘I don’t know about that, Mrs Delaney,’ said Violet briskly, ‘but she’s doing very well now. She’s been promoted several times.’
‘Wonders will never cease,’ snapped Vera. ‘Time was when she wouldn’t have said boo to a goose.’
Violet raised her eyebrows. That certainly didn’t sound much like the Kitty she knew now. That was the trouble with some people; they got one view of a person and refused to change it, despite what was staring them in the face. That was Vera Delaney to a T.
‘Anyway, Mrs Delaney, what was it you wanted?’ Violet asked.
Vera glanced around the shelves, which were as well stocked as Rita and Violet could manage, even if there wasn’t the variety of goods available before the war broke out. Despite the cheerful display of Camp coffee bottles and the bright tins of Ovaltine, she looked dissatisfied. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll make do with a tin of soup for my tea, and I’ll write to my Alfie to let him know that Kitty’s back. He always took an interest in her. He’s good like that, has a heart of gold.’
Violet nodded dubiously, because that wasn’t the Alfie Delaney she remembered at all. He had a reputation as a conscription dodger and a coward, but he hadn’t been seen around for a while. Rumour had it that he’d offended a lot of people by selling contaminated meat which he’d obtained on the black market, and had had to make himself scarce when many of them fell seriously ill. ‘Where’s he now, then?’ she asked, trying to make pleasant conversation as it didn’t do to lose a regular customer, however unpleasant they were.
‘He got a transfer to Clydebank,’ Vera said, puffing up with importance. ‘He’s doing very well for himself, working his fingers to the bone for the war effort.’
Not what Danny used to say about him, Violet thought, but didn’t speak it out loud. Danny and Alfie had worked together down at the Gladstone Dock and nobody had a good word for him.
‘I see,’ she said neutrally. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you, Mrs Delaney. There’s still a nip in the air once the sun starts to go down.’ She hoped the woman would get the hint. If she wasn’t going to buy anything, Violet wanted her out of the shop so she could shut up and go home.
Vera sniffed again but didn’t linger, turning on her heel and leaving without saying anything further.
Violet breathed a sigh of relief as she drew the bolt on the door. There were times when she wished she was better at doing the books or other backroom tasks, as some of the difficult customers could try the patience of a saint, and tonight she didn’t have any patience left. But it was her job to smile and get on with people, so she had to do it. She wanted to be back in her room, dwelling on the sweet memories of the time she’d shared there with Eddy.
He’d been back on duty for a fortnight or so now, but she could still picture him sharply in her mind, and what a wonderful week they’d had together when he was on leave. Truly, she was the luckiest woman in the world to have a man like him. She pulled down the blackout blind, just in case Rita or Ruby needed to come into the shop later on. She was dog-tired, even though she hadn’t done anything exerting today. On some of her free evenings she’d begun to persuade Ruby to come to the pictures with her, but she hadn’t had the energy even to suggest it since Eddy had gone back. Never mind. Dolly was making stew with some of the spring greens, and that would pep her up. As good as a tonic, Dolly’s stews were. Wearily she took off her gingham apron and folded it away under the counter, picked up the handbag she’d made herself from remnants, and let herself out of the side entrance. She wondered what Eddy was doing at that very moment. Perhaps he was halfway to Canada, but he’d be safe now the U-boat threat had been averted.
‘How about a cocktail?’ Laura suggested, trying to be jaunty and not let her worry show. That was the last thing Peter needed. He was under enough strain as it was, preparing for the big offensive that nobody was meant to know about but which seemed to be common knowledge, at least in their circles. ‘I’m simply dying for a martini. How very convenient that your uncle can get hold of the necessary ingredients. I swear I wouldn’t last the week without one.’
Peter’s handsome face broke into a smile, the frown lines relaxing for once. She nodded in delight, hoping that she’d distracted him from whatever was causing those lines to deepen by the day, almost by the hour. The creases at his eyes were deeper too – laughter lines, she called them, wanting to cheer him up. The truth was that the responsibility of being a captain in a navy at war had aged him, the good looks that had attracted her to begin with still there, but now tempered by two extra years of sleep deprivation, stressful shifts, and the knowledge that his every decision affected the lives of the men serving under him. On top of all that, there were the endless meetings.
It was one such meeting that had brought him back to London from his new base, close to Portsmouth on the south coast. At least it wasn’t far to travel – although the train had been slow, he’d reported, and he’d only just made it in time. He didn’t think it worth the risk of trying to return on the same evening, and so he and Laura were snatching a precious night together at his uncle the admiral’s flat.
‘You make it,’ he said lightly. ‘When it comes to cocktails, you’re the queen. I wouldn’t dare to compete.’
‘There speaks a man who knows his own skills and recognises those of others,’ said Laura, swinging around and letting her bias-cut flared skirt twirl around her shapely legs. ‘No wonder you’ve risen far in the ranks. Giving credit where it’s due will get you a long way.’ She dug around in the admiral’s fine antique cupboard for two suitable glasses, and held them up to the light of the sparkling chandelier. ‘Excellent. These’ll do.’
‘Anyone would think you did this every day of the week,’ said Peter, relaxing back on to the cream and gold cushions of the ample sofa. ‘Rather than drinking lukewarm tea out of chipped cups in the Wrens’ mess.’
‘Or even more lukewarm tea out of enamel mugs while standing around waiting for my next passenger to bother to show up,’ Laura reminded him, unscrewing the lid of a bottle. ‘Let’s not forget that, as it makes up so much of my working day. Ah, the glamour of it. Street corners of London I have known. Maybe I’ll write a book about them once the fighting’s over.’
‘You’re certainly the expert,’ Peter agreed. ‘In that and reversing into impossibly tight spaces.’
‘It’s why you love me, I know,’ said Laura, holding the glass of viscous liquid at eye level and deciding it was perfect. ‘I am under no illusions at all. My reversing skills were the top priority, I fully understand.’ She gave him a dazzling smile as she came across to the sofa, set both glasses down on the glass-topped coffee table and settled down beside him, snuggling close to him so that she could breathe in his distinctive scent – of his favourite cologne, a precious bottle of which he still kept at the admiral’s flat, his freshly laundered crisp white shirt, and that extra musky note which was unique to him. For a brief moment she shut her eyes.
How many other chances would she have to do this before he had to return to action? She must make the most of it and treasure it, putting away the memory for safekeeping, just in case the worst were to happen. She would always have this moment, this evening, in this beautiful flat, with the most courageous and handsome man on earth. Please don’t let this be the last time ever, she prayed fervently, screwing her eyes even more tightly shut. It had been bad enough getting the news when her brother had failed to return. She didn’t think she could stand any more of it but, knowing there was no point in making a scene, she released him and sat back, reaching for her drink and passing him his. She noticed that he drew in a sharp breath but tried to hide it as he sat up. He would never, ever complain about the pain from the old chest wound.
‘Happy days,’ she said lightly.
‘Happy days,’ he echoed, raising the glass and sipping. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Congratulations, Fawcett. Even by your standards, that is strong stuff. Good lord. I don’t know why we have the finest brains in the country trying to come up with weapons to destroy Hitler and his crew. We could just send you in disguised as a waitress and have you serve them the likes of this. They wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘Whereas you, my love, have had plenty of practice withstanding the punch of a knockout cocktail.’ She sipped her own and smiled in satisfaction. ‘Just how I like it. You must thank your uncle. He’s too kind.’
‘He is.’ Peter nodded in acknowledgement. They were lucky, he knew, having the loan of the flat for an evening, and not having to make do with a half-empty pub with watered-down gin, or a restaurant that had little in the way of choice, or, even worse, trying to get past the dragons at Laura’s strictly women-only billet. For this brief interlude they could persuade themselves that all was right with the world, and that they had a glittering future ahead of them. Had they met under normal circumstances that would have undoubtedly been the case; he knew they looked good together and both came from privileged backgrounds. Their prospects would have been gilded. Now everything was clouded with uncertainty. He didn’t want to burden Laura with what he had just been told would happen. If they could keep this one evening special, he could think about it when he was in the thick of the action. He knew that would not be far ahead now.
‘He’s said I can come to see him here, when he’s off duty,’ she went on. ‘What a poppet. I don’t want to take up his time, though. He’ll have other things on his mind.’
Peter shifted slightly. ‘He’ll welcome your company; it’ll be a diversion for him. All work and no play, and all that.’
‘Well, you’re one to talk.’ She faced him with a quizzical expression. ‘I know what you’re like – you must get it from him. Promise me you’ll get a good sleep whenever possible, when … you know.’
‘I promise.’ Peter knew there was little point in arguing with Laura. He might be the captain and used to giving orders, but she was something else again. ‘Anyway, how was your day? How were the other lady drivers?’
Laura pulled a face. ‘They’re all right, they’re good sorts really. They just think I’m fearfully standoffish. They always want to know every detail of what I’m doing, whereas I like to maintain a little privacy. I’m certainly not going to tell them that I came here with you. They’ll go positively green. It’s not fair on them; they don’t get the odd night of the good life, so why torment them?’ She paused for another sip.
‘Bet they can’t reverse like you can.’
‘Of course not. Nobody can reverse like I can.’ She said it jokingly but there was a core of truth to it. She was extremely good at her job, but that wasn’t why he loved her to distraction. He thought she was the most beautiful, elegant, smart woman he’d ever seen, and knew she had deep reserves of courage too. She was also unbelievably stubborn and scarily determined – but all those qualities put together made her the right woman for him. He only prayed they would have time together to enjoy life properly when all the fighting was done.
She rested her head on his chest – carefully, to avoid where the wound had been – and he wrapped his arms around her. She was wearing a silky blouse in buttery cream. ‘This isn’t parachute silk, is it?’ he asked.
‘Really! No, it is not.’ Laura knew full well that plenty of women were making clothes from parachute silk, in the absence of anything better, and plenty of those were underwear. ‘I got it when I last went back to see Mummy and Daddy. It’s an old thing, nothing to make a fuss about.’
Peter could tell it must have been expensive once, but he didn’t really care. She could have worn an old sack and he would have still wanted to hold her tight, stroke her precious body through the folds of the material.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ she said suddenly. ‘Damn Hitler and the lot of them. Just stay here with me.’
‘You know I can’t do that. And you wouldn’t want me to, not really.’
‘I know. It’s just so lovely here. Being here with you.’
‘It is.’ He nuzzled her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her warm skin. ‘What do you say to putting these drinks aside for the time being and making it an evening to remember?’ He stroked her more passionately. ‘We could just go through there …’ He nodded towards the spare bedroom, which lay through the beautifully carved living-room door. He could just see the soft rose quilt, plumped up and inviting.
Laura uncurled and faced him, then stood and took his hand. ‘We could, couldn’t we?’ She tipped up her face towards him and he leant down and kissed her, gently at first and then more emphatically, as they moved together towards the open door.
‘What do you fancy doing at the weekend, then, Sylvia?’ Frank caught up with her as she came down the underground corridor in Derby House. ‘You’ve got both days off, haven’t you?’
Sylvia paused on her way back to her desk, her arms full of brown files. ‘Clever you to have checked,’ she said, grinning up at him. The late spring sunshine had brought out a smattering of freckles on her nose. ‘Yes, but the thing is …’ She paused, knowing he would be disappointed with her news. ‘The thing is, I thought I’d try to go back to see my parents again.’
Frank swallowed. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. ‘Oh?’ he said, hoping he didn’t sound too put out. ‘Well, if that’s what you want …’
‘It’s not that,’ Sylvia hurried to assure him. ‘Not quite like that, any road. Of course I love going to see them, but you see, the thing is, Dad’s not been well. Mum wrote to tell me, and of course I can’t let him see that I know or he’d be horrified I’ve given up a weekend to go all that way, but I have to go all the same.’
Frank breathed out. ‘Of course you do. Yes, I’m sure you’re right. You don’t have to say anything about why you’re there; just turning up will do the trick. Otherwise you’ll worry, won’t you?’ His eyes crinkled into a warm smile. That was typical Sylvia – running to help where she could. His own disappointment was nothing compared to the anxiety she must be feeling about a sick parent, and not being close enough to just hop on a bus and go to see how they were. His heart went out to her.
Sylvia nodded. ‘That’s it. Oh, Frank, I knew you’d understand. I’d love to spend the weekend with you, of course I would, but I have to go to see how bad he is. And Mum will need my help. It’s at times like this that I realise how cut off they are, all the way up there in the Lakes, and she might want me to sit with him while she goes out or send me on errands, or whatever needs to be done. Or I might get there and he’ll be right as rain again – I just don’t know.’ Her lip trembled, and she bit it to stop it giving away how worried she was.
Frank could tell, though, and he briefly put a hand on her arm to comfort her. They were always very careful not to flaunt their relationship at work, as it was a tight team and in a confined space, and it didn’t do to act unprofessionally. But he wanted to show her he knew how she must be feeling. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he assured her. ‘With any luck you’ll get back there and he’ll be striding around whistling for his sheepdog and heading out on to the hills. Then you and your mother can have a good laugh and she’ll feed you up good and proper. You see if I’m not right.’
‘Oh, I bet you are,’ she said in relief. ‘That’s just how it’ll be. But if I don’t see how he is for myself … well, Mum wouldn’t have written unless it was serious, as she wouldn’t want to worry me, so … I’m going to go.’
‘Of course you are. I’d expect nothing less of you.’ He withdrew his arm. ‘And sorry, here am I holding you up when you’ve got all that work to do. You go, give them my best wishes, and we’ll go out to the Phil another time.’
‘I’d love that.’ The Philharmonic Dining Rooms was where they’d had their first proper date, and it had remained one of their favourite pubs, despite it being slightly out of their way. The sumptuous art-deco interior always lifted their spirits, even if the route there was full of bomb-damaged buildings. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Frank Feeny.’
‘I’ll make sure you do,’ he said mischievously as he watched her hurry back down the corridor.