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‘I’m not sure she’d be very happy with that reasoning,’ Suzanne said. ‘Stop pulling, Rusty. We’ll let you off in a minute when we get to the park.’ The dog was barking joyfully at all the smells, tugging on his lead, then making them wait while he sniffed and snuffled. ‘The worst of it is that she’s threatened to see Mrs Mortimer.’
‘Mrs Mortimer sounds like a lady who can stand up for herself so I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Ronnie said. ‘No, Rusty, put that filthy rag down immediately.’
‘It’s just that she was so kind to me – and I don’t want Maman to upset her.’ She bit her lip. No need to mention to her young sister that she equally didn’t want Mrs Mortimer’s very nice son, James, to be upset either. Ronnie would learn about such grown-up matters when the time came.
‘I am afraid you will not be welcome at Beatrice Mortimer’s house on Saturday, chérie.’
Suzanne startled. ‘What do you mean, Maman?’
‘I have spoken to her on the telephone and told her to please mind her own business and not to interfere in the future of my daughter.’
‘Oh, Maman,’ Suzanne said, dismayed, ‘you didn’t have to do that. I feel so embarrassed. She didn’t try to persuade me in the least.’
‘I have nothing more to say.’
No, I don’t suppose you have. You’ve done your worst by what you said to Mrs Mortimer.
The more Suzanne thought about what her mother had said to Mrs Mortimer, the more upset she became. Well, there was nothing she could do. Her mother had purposefully made trouble so that Suzanne could never again confide in the lady.
A ripple of anger coursed through her. Deciding to go for a walk to calm down, she removed her jacket from the hook and didn’t bother to put it on until she was outside. At least the orchestra would be rehearsing again tomorrow and she’d have a chance to speak to Wendy again.
Suzanne mooched along, head down in thought, when she heard a motorcar pull up beside the pavement. The driver leaned over and wound down the window.
‘It is Suzanne, isn’t it?’
She recognised that voice. Melodious. She peered in to see James grinning at her.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said flatly. When James found out what Maman had told his mother he wouldn’t be so friendly.
‘Oh, dear. You look very serious. Has something happened to upset you?’
She shook her head.
‘Sorry, I don’t believe you. Why don’t you jump in and we’ll have a tea or something at the café? I’m a good listener.’
What would be the harm? Then the image of her mother’s face, livid with fury, made her hesitate.
‘I’m afraid I can’t. I—’
‘Please.’ James looked at her imploringly. ‘I’m a bit low myself. I hate leaving my mother worrying herself to death when I go back to my ship on Monday.’
‘All right,’ she said, without thinking. ‘Just a cup of tea, then. I was only walking into the village to get some exercise. Trying to clear my head …’
‘Ah, so there is something you need to get off your chest.’ He came round to her side and opened the door, and a little self-consciously she folded herself into the small space.
‘I didn’t think anyone could get petrol these days,’ she commented for something to say when James pulled into the road.
‘I’d topped up the tank before the rationing, and because I’m mostly at sea I’ve barely touched it.’ He turned to her. ‘Actually, we could go into Bromley. I know an exceptionally good cake shop … and we wouldn’t run into any gossiping villagers,’ he added, with the same wide smile.
If she said no, she knew she’d regret it. Today was Wednesday. He was going back to his ship in less than a week. Although the Allies had dramatically turned the tide in the war against the U-boats, it was still possible for a ship to be torpedoed. A shiver ran up her spine. Not just for James, she told herself, but all the crew he’d be sailing with. She wouldn’t allow herself to think further.
‘All right, you’ve tempted me,’ Suzanne said, returning his smile with a shaky one of her own.
‘Good-o,’ James said, pressing his foot on the accelerator.
In the café, James helped her off with her coat and ordered tea and scones with jam.
‘Please make sure it’s real butter,’ he said, smiling up at the bleached blonde waitress. She nodded and disappeared. He grinned at Suzanne. ‘They palm you off with marg if you don’t specify.’ He paused. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
Suzanne shook her head. She noticed the shape of his hands as he lit a cigarette. He had long fingers, not as slender as a musician’s, but more like someone who would roll their sleeves up and work, if need be. She imagined him on a ship, issuing orders.
‘Now tell me what’s on your mind,’ he said, and for a moment she thought he meant what she was thinking and visualising at this minute. Feeling her cheeks flush, and hoping he’d think it was the warmth of the café, she came back to the present, swiftly telling him about Maman insisting she attend the Royal Academy of Music, and her own desire to join ENSA.
‘I went to see your mother again,’ she said.
‘I know,’ James smiled. ‘She told me you’d had a chat. She was delighted you went to her.’ He touched her hand briefly and she felt a tingling up her arm. ‘Was it about your dilemma?’
‘Yes. She really listens when you say something,’ Suzanne said, fidgeting with the condiments on the table. ‘Something Maman finds very hard to do. Your mother reminded me that if I did decide to join ENSA I could take up classical music again when this war is over – if it ever is.’ She looked up to see James watching her with those twinkling grey-blue eyes. They were the same colour as the sea on a summer’s day when Dad used to take them on a caravan holiday in Hastings. Like his mother, James was also listening intently. ‘And I would still try to keep up my practising,’ she hurried on, not wanting him to realise how his eyes affected her.
‘Well, I can’t see any problem, so far,’ James said, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray.
Suzanne watched the piece of ash drop into the glass dish as if it were the most fascinating of movements.
‘Did your mother also tell you that Maman telephoned her and told her it was none of her business to advise me on my future?’ she said finally.
‘No, I can’t say she did,’ James said, inhaling and then blowing out the smoke away from her face. ‘But my mother wouldn’t take much notice, so don’t worry that her feelings are hurt.’
‘Well, I do,’ Suzanne admitted. ‘I was so embarrassed.’
‘I expect the truth of the matter is that your mother worries about you going off on your own. I don’t know how old you are—’ he leaned towards her ‘—but I imagine you haven’t got the key of the door yet. That’s why she worries. As far as she’s concerned, you’re still her child and need to be under her authority – she doesn’t see it as control. She sees it as doing her best for you.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Maybe in her own life, when she was young, there were things she wished she could have done but was stopped by the effects of the last war. Who knows? I suppose you have to try hard to be patient, but that’s not to say you have to give in to all her suggestions if you feel deep inside that they’re wrong for you.’
Suzanne didn’t know quite what to say. If she admitted the truth that Maman was aggrieved she’d gone to his mother and discussed her problem, she’d feel disloyal. And maybe James had a point about Maman not fulfilling her own dreams. Before she could answer, the waitress hurried over carrying a full tray and briskly set out the crockery, teapot, milk jug, and a small bowl with four sugar lumps on the table. ‘I’ll bring the scones straightaway,’ she said.
‘Shall I pour?’ James asked.
‘Please.’
He picked up the teapot and poured out the two cups, then added some milk. He pushed the sugar bowl towards her, but she shook her head.
‘Does this mean you won’t be coming to the birthday tea Mother is preparing?’
‘Oh, you’re not supposed to know anything about it,’ Suzanne blurted.
James grinned. ‘I know I’m not – but I do. Lance Boswell stopped me when I was in Bromley library yesterday, and said he’d be there, but none of my other friends have any leave. Poor old Lance has only just recovered from a nasty wound on his leg.’ He sucked in his breath. ‘What a bloody awful war – excuse my French.’
The blonde waitress who had just set down the plate of scones gave James an admiring look and giggled before she turned to look after another customer.
‘Oh, dear, that’s two ladies who’ve heard me swear in the space of ten seconds.’ But he was grinning widely.
Suzanne smiled. ‘I doubt you’ve offended either of us. It is bloody – literally.’ She hesitated. ‘You might be right about Maman, but she’s being unreasonable. After all, you’re only up the road. I wouldn’t be doing anything that wild.’
‘More’s the pity …’ James chuckled, a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Sorry, Suzy, I couldn’t resist that.’
She couldn’t help laughing. They talked a little more, and Suzanne enjoyed the novelty of being with a man who seemed to find what she had to say of interest. She liked listening to the sound of his voice without always taking in everything he was saying. She liked hearing him call her Suzy.
‘Well, what are you going to do about this ENSA company?’ he said, finally, pulling her out of her reverie.
‘I definitely want to find out more about it,’ she said, taking a bite of the delicious still-warm scone, ‘so I’ll speak to Wendy tomorrow.’
James dropped her off outside her house, then wound the passenger window down and stuck his head out.
‘Shall we see you Saturday afternoon then?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Your mother said I didn’t need to reply. Just call in if I was able to.’ She looked directly at him. ‘Can we leave it like that?’
‘Of course.’ He switched the engine on again. ‘Suzy, I’m the last person who would want you to get into trouble with your mother, but I’d be so pleased if you came on my birthday – and if you do, please don’t bring me anything. I don’t want or need anything at all. Just bring yourself.’
She watched as his car disappeared in a cloud of smoke with a roar of the engine.
Chapter Nine
That evening as Suzanne walked to the village hall to her rehearsal, her mother’s words would not stop rolling around her head. She tried hard not to think badly of her but really, Maman had behaved disgracefully to Mrs Mortimer. Then she softened. Maman had lost Dad and must be constantly worried about Raine having an accident in ‘one of those flimsy contraptions’, as she called the aeroplanes. Suzanne realised this was all part of the problem. If she left home to join ENSA, it would just be Ronnie and Maman. And another daughter being sent goodness knew where for her to worry about. With a stab of guilt, she remembered how non-judgemental James had been, suggesting Maman might have had her own dreams curtailed.
Suzanne opened the village hall door to the sounds of chattering and a couple of musicians tuning their instruments. They looked up and smiled, calling hello. She might not know much about them personally, but she liked them because they were enthusiastic and serious about the music they were playing, and even with the war on, rarely missed a rehearsal.
‘Ah, there you are, Suzanne,’ Mr Rubenstein said when she stepped in and shrugged off her coat. ‘Can you believe it’s this cold in May?’ He rubbed his hands briskly together. ‘I think we’re just waiting for Wendy.’
He was right about the cold, Suzanne thought. It certainly wasn’t spring weather. She hung up her coat and glanced at the clock in the kitchen as she came back into the main hall. Almost half past. The conductor liked to start dead on half-past five. She’d been worried that she’d be late this evening as she’d helped her mother prepare the supper in advance, Maman barely saying a word.
The door opened and Wendy appeared, holding the hand of a child of four or five with a halo of golden curls. ‘Oh, good, you haven’t started yet,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to bring Rosie to the rehearsal.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She’s my goddaughter and her mother asked if I could babysit while she and Tony went to the pictures tonight. It’s the first time her Tony’s been home for almost a year, so I said yes. I hoped you wouldn’t mind, and I thought Rosie might even enjoy listening to us.’
‘We can’t normally accommodate children,’ Mr Rubenstein started, ‘but seeing as you haven’t any option, then she can sit over here.’ He smiled at the child. ‘Do you like music?’
Rosie nodded. ‘I like singing too.’
‘That’s excellent. But we won’t be singing this evening.’
‘I can hum quietly.’
Suzanne smiled. Rosie seemed a confident child who knew exactly what she did and didn’t like.
‘She’ll be a good girl, won’t you?’ Wendy gave the child a little tug on her hand.
Rosie nodded. ‘I bought Teddy to listen, too.’
‘I brought Teddy,’ Wendy corrected.
‘Right.’ Mr Rubenstein looked at his watch chain. ‘We need to start. Everyone, please take your seats.’
After the rehearsal – which had gone better than the last one, and was livened up by an audience in Rosie, who clapped after every piece – Suzanne stopped Wendy as she was putting her coat on.
‘Do you have a moment, Wendy?’
Wendy glanced at Rosie who was staring up at both of them. ‘Look, why don’t you come to the cottage? Rosie’s going to stay with me the night and I’ve got enough supper for all of us. Then we’ll put Rosie to bed and be free to have a natter. How about that?’
Suzanne hesitated. Normally, her mother might have encouraged her to spend an hour or two with a friend, but she doubted Maman would allow it this evening, the mood she was in, especially knowing she was with Wendy.
‘I’m on the telephone so you can ring your mother.’
It hadn’t worked so well the last time when Mrs Mortimer had rung her mother to say her daughter would be late, owing to an accident. She bit her lip. If she allowed Maman to direct every aspect of her life from now on, without any say in the matter, she’d never escape her clutches.
‘Thank you, Wendy, I’d love to.’
Wendy lived down a winding lane, pitch-dark tonight with the blackout, but it was only ten minutes’ walk from the village hall in the opposite direction from Suzanne’s home. Rosie began to whine that she was tired.
‘You won’t want your supper then,’ Wendy said, as they approached the pretty little thatched-roof cottage that she rented.
‘I will, yes I will.’ Rosie hopped up and down.
‘Come on, then. Let’s get in out of this cold.’ Wendy unlocked the front door. ‘Let me go ahead and do the windows so we can put the light on.’
Suzanne followed her into the square hall with rafters that rose to the roof. She watched as Wendy pulled the blackout curtains firmly together and switched on a side lamp. It threw a weak light onto a long refectory bench piled with books, and a row of pegs acting as coat hooks, and cast eerie shadows, making the hall look and feel completely different from when she’d seen it the one time before on a beautiful sunny afternoon.
‘Go through,’ Wendy called. ‘And mind your head.’
Suzanne’s shoes clattered on the stone floor as she ducked into the opening to the sitting room, reminding her, as it had the last time, of walking into a forest of tree trunks. The ceiling, only inches above Suzanne’s head, was heavily beamed, with more timbers holding up the walls. At one end of the modest-sized sitting room was an enormous inglenook, stretching almost end to end.
It would look so warm and cosy if it was lit, was Suzanne’s first thought, but of course Wendy could hardly have left a fire burning all evening while she was at rehearsal.
‘Ooooh, it’s cold in here,’ Wendy said, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing them. ‘It’s too late to light a fire. I’ll put the electric one on. Rosie, you show Miss Linfoot where to hang her coat.’
Suzanne obediently hung her coat on the peg Rosie pointed to and went back to the sitting room.
‘The telephone’s by that green armchair,’ Wendy said, as she stood on a small stepladder to reach the ceiling light. ‘Help yourself.’ She plugged in the fire, letting the long wire dangle from the ceiling into a coil on the floor. ‘It’s not ideal,’ she said, stepping from the ladder, ‘so don’t trip over it, whatever you do.’ She looked at Rosie. ‘Rosie, are you listening?’
‘Yes, Auntie Wendy.’
‘Let me finish preparing the supper and while I’m doing that, you can telephone your mother.’
Suzanne’s stomach tightened as she braced herself for Maman’s instructions. To her relief it was Ronnie who answered.
‘Don’t worry, Suzy. I’ll tell Maman. Have a nice time with Wendy. Don’t come home too late or else we’ll worry – well, Maman will worry, but I shan’t, of course.’ She heard Ronnie’s giggle.
‘You monkey,’ Suzanne chuckled. ‘Anyway, I won’t be late.’
She put the receiver down, feeling at once relieved and apprehensive. Relieved that she couldn’t do anything about it now – the deed was done – but apprehensive knowing she had it all to face later.
After the three of them had finished a delicious stew, and Suzanne had gone with Wendy to tuck Rosie up in bed in the small windowless boxroom, Wendy made a pot of tea.
‘Here, Suzy, put your feet up.’ Wendy pushed a covered stool towards Suzanne with her foot. ‘Make yourself at home.’
‘I’d never be allowed to do this at home,’ Suzanne said, as she stretched her long slim legs onto the stool.
‘Hmm.’ Wendy caught her eye in a direct gaze. She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Suzanne.
Suzanne shook her head. ‘I’ve tried them but they just make me feel sick. And if Maman knew I was smoking she’d practically disown me.’ She glanced at Wendy. ‘You must get lonely here sometimes.’
‘Not at the moment with Rosie around, though I don’t see that much of her. But she’s a smashing little kid. I love her to bits.’ Her smile faded. She struck a match to light her cigarette. ‘I’d love to have had my own. When I met Bill it was love at first sight. I haven’t told you much about him, have I?’
Suzanne shook her head.
‘He was in the Merchant Navy and away for long spells so we decided on his next leave to get married.’ She paused and gave Suzanne a rueful smile. ‘You’ve probably guessed – I was pregnant. But we were both thrilled. It didn’t matter that we did things the wrong way round. But before we had time to get married his ship was torpedoed. And that was the end of him.’ Her voice cracked. ‘With all the worry I lost the baby. I lost everything – the baby, Bill, my dream of marriage and my happiness.’
A shiver ran the length of Suzanne’s spine. She thought of James in his ship. The same thing could happen to him. She swallowed and looked across at Wendy whose head was lowered, consumed by her memories. Poor Wendy. She realised now why Wendy didn’t wear a ring. She and Bill had never had time to get married. Impulsively, she sprang up and put her arms around the slumped figure.
‘Wendy, that’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard. I’m so sorry. But you’ll meet someone again. Maybe have another child. It’s not too late.’
‘I’ll never love anyone like my Bill,’ Wendy sniffed, reaching for her handkerchief again. ‘But thank you for listening.’ She blew her nose. She looked up, her eyes still glistening with tears. ‘What I’m trying to tell you is that life is precious, and you must do whatever’s in your heart. And I believe you’d get a hell of a lot of satisfaction from entertaining our boys who are risking their lives every moment of every day for us.’
‘I’m seriously thinking about it,’ Suzanne told her, smiling, ‘so I wondered if I could go with you when you have your first rehearsal – just to get a feel and talk to someone who would tell me more about it, and the kind of places they go to.’ She hesitated. ‘Anyway, even if I say I’d like to join, they might not want me.’
Wendy broke into a grin, transforming her plain features. ‘They’ll want you,’ she said. ‘No doubt about it.’ She jumped up. ‘I think you’re coming round to the idea so this calls for a celebration. I’ve got some sherry somewhere.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.
‘Let’s have a toast,’ she said as she poured the glasses. She handed one to Suzanne. ‘To us. May you say “yes” and may we cheer up those boys and have a bit of fun ourselves at the same time.’
Suzanne chuckled, glad to see her friend looking happier.
‘It’s perfect timing.’ Wendy tapped her ash into the saucer. ‘I have my first rehearsal with them in London tomorrow afternoon. You can come with me.’
Suzanne was silent.
‘Will that be a problem?’ Wendy asked.
Suzanne shook her head. ‘I won’t let it be. What time will you leave?’
‘I want to allow plenty of time for any hold-ups on the train. I thought around ten.’
‘My mother’s rarely downstairs before nine,’ Suzanne said. ‘But I’d rather be out of the house earlier.’
‘Come for breakfast,’ Wendy said, smiling. ‘Rosie would love it. We could catch an earlier train and maybe go to Oxford Street. Have a look in the shop windows. Selfridges is always eye-catching – it’s so different from all the other department stores.’
Suzanne had never been to Oxford Street. A frisson shot through her at the thought of a day out in London instead of attending school. She’d never played truant in her life. But this was different. There was a war on. Nothing was how it used to be. And it would never go back to being the same – of that, she was certain.
‘What do you think, Suzy?’ Wendy said, then hesitated. ‘Do you mind being called Suzy?’
‘I’m used to Raine and Ronnie calling me that,’ Suzanne smiled. ‘Even though Maman frowns when they say it.’ She caught Wendy’s eye and grinned. ‘Do you think it suits me then?’
‘It will do when you’re up on that stage playing jazz on your violin in completely different surroundings to the village hall or the church.’ Wendy chuckled as she put down her empty glass. ‘Let’s run through the plan. You be here by seven for breakfast. Then we all leave together just before eight. We’ll catch the bus from the village into Bromley, drop Rosie off at her mum’s, then catch a train into Charing Cross. We’ll be early so we can get the tube to Oxford Street. Have a coffee. From there we’ll get the tube to Covent Garden and it’ll be time to stop for a sandwich or something. Then it’s just a short walk to Drury Lane.’
‘What time is the rehearsal?’
‘Not until half-past two,’ Wendy said. ‘But we’ll aim for two so I can introduce you to Elizabeth Foster – she’s in charge of new recruits in ENSA and knows it inside out.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘She seems to be. I’ve only met her that one time.’
Suzanne glanced at her watch and rose to her feet.
‘Are you off already?’
‘I must. I’m sorry to have to leave your beautiful little cottage … it’s lovely and warm now, but I don’t want to be late home. And thank you for everything, Wendy. I’m so glad we’ve had our chat. I feel we’re really proper friends.’
‘Most definitely,’ Wendy said, springing up and giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Until tomorrow – seven o’clock sharp. I’ll have the kettle on.’
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