A SISTER’S SONG
Molly Green

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Copyright © Molly Green 2020

Cover design by Stephen Mulcahey © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photographs © CollaborationJS, Fox Photos/Stringer/Getty Images (aircraft carrier in background)

Molly Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008332471

Ebook Edition © June 2020 ISBN: 9780008332488

Version: 2020-06-09

Dedication

To the people of Malta who bravely endured

the Siege of Malta

from June 1940 – December 1942,

their Island being harder hit than the London Blitz,

and to the RAF, the Navy and the Merchant Navy who

defended the Island, sacrificing many,

but who won against all odds.

To all the entertainers in ENSA performing

throughout the Second World War

in Great Britain, Europe, the Middle East and the Far East.

The performers were often very close to

the action but carried on regardless,

keeping up the morale of the troops and

bringing them a little bit of Blighty.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Read on for an exclusive extract from the next Molly Green novel A Sister’s War

Acknowledgements

Author’s note

Reading List for A Sister’s Song

Acknowledgements of Extracts from the Songs Mentioned

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Molly Green

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Downe, Near Bromley

Easter 1943

Suzanne stood in the wings of the village hall stage, poised to take her place by the other musicians. She couldn’t stop shivering. Although it was mild outside, the hall was always cold – but it wasn’t that. She had never before performed the solo in the finale of her favourite violin concerto in front of a real audience.

Oh, no – there was her cue.

Just go and do it, she told herself sternly, holding her violin tight to her chest. Despite her trembling legs, she walked up the three steps to the wooden platform. The eight other musicians turned their heads towards her as she nodded to them, then at the modest audience. She sat down, her fingers instinctively tracing the familiar curving outline of her instrument.

Even though Suzanne couldn’t see much in the gloom of the badly lit hall, she couldn’t mistake Maman. Swathed in her fur coat, which she refused to discard until May, her tiny hat perched on her curls, her mother sat in the front row on one of the hard chairs, no doubt on the cushion she always brought with her. But where was Ronnie? She should be by Maman’s side. But this was no time to start asking questions. The conductor looked at her with raised eyebrows. Suzanne settled her violin under her chin, took up her bow, and nodded.

As soon as she played the first notes she relaxed, now sure of herself. Barely aware of her surroundings, she half closed her eyes, the music filling her brain, her heart, and flowing through to the tips of her elegant fingers as the bow caressed the strings of her beloved violin.

Her whole being was immersed in Mendelssohn’s wonderful concerto when suddenly the wail of an air-raid siren stopped her in mid-stroke. Her heart jumped with fright. The sound rose and fell over and over again. She’d never heard one so close. Dear God, the Luftwaffe must be heading straight for Biggin Hill. Or Bromley. Or even Downe! Blood pounded through her temples. Her fingers fluttered. Would the hall be struck? Why weren’t people rushing out of the door?

Everyone on the platform stopped. Suzanne’s heartbeat sounded in her ears as she looked over to the audience. One tall man at the back immediately sprang up, caught her eye for a brief moment and nodded, then shoved his hat on and quickly left. He certainly wasn’t going to risk it by staying, and she couldn’t really blame him. Oh dear, there was Maman on her feet. Should she go to her? No one else moved. They sat quietly on the hard seats, faces upturned, as though expecting to hear the rest of the piece. To her relief she saw her mother look round at the others and quickly sit down again. Suzanne glanced at Mr Rubenstein, the elderly conductor, who tapped on his stand and said:

‘Back to the beginning of the solo, please, ladies and gentlemen.’

There was nothing for it but to obey. She nodded, her hand shaking as she took up her bow, waiting for her introduction.

Just as she was about to begin, the siren started up again. This time the audience stirred. Although the wailing probably lasted no more than a minute, it felt to Suzanne like an hour. Then a silence. The tension in the hall suddenly tightened as a droning noise, followed by a high-pitched whine – different from the siren – sounded overhead. BOOM! An explosion rattled her eardrums as the very platform she sat on shook with the vibration. She couldn’t move.

Then a deafening bang and the shattering of glass. Suzanne gasped. Dear God, they were all going to be killed! Her heart pounded. Her chest felt so tight that for long seconds she couldn’t breathe. What should she do? What were the others going to do? Squashing the feeling of panic she saw heads and hats turn briefly towards the two smashed windows, then back again to the small orchestra. Still no one else got up to leave. Mr Rubenstein gestured for Suzanne to continue.

Somehow the bravery of her audience transferred itself to her and she played the last section, her fear replaced by her love of the joyous music. Although still trembling, she poured her heart and soul out to the audience, letting the music flow and comfort them. She played the final note, completely spent.

There was a hush. Then the sound of applause echoed round the hall.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at such an enthusiastic response, Suzanne faced the audience. She could see Maman clapping louder than anyone else, but it was strange that Ronnie hadn’t appeared. Suzanne knew her younger sister didn’t much care for classical music, but she’d said only this morning she’d be coming with Maman. Then it struck Suzanne why she wasn’t there.

Don’t let something have happened to Ronnie in the air raid.

Pushing down her unease she pasted a smile on her face for Maman and was rewarded by the little hat bobbing up and down as her mother waved and blew kisses in her daughter’s direction.

Mr Rubenstein gave a bow and gestured to Suzanne. Still shaken from the noise of the bombs she bent forward and briefly lowered her head. Next, the other musicians stood, looking towards her, clapping and smiling.

And then the whine of another siren filled the hall, but this time it built to a high crescendo and wailed for more than a minute. Suzanne breathed out slowly and smiled back at the musicians and then the audience. It was the welcome sound of the All Clear, practically swallowed up by more clapping and some loud whistles from the concertgoers.

‘That was close,’ Mr Rubenstein said, addressing the audience. ‘And we would have completely understood if you’d left for the shelter, so I want to thank you for having such faith that we would all come through this latest attack together.’

‘Bit like the Titanic,’ a man at the back called out. ‘The band kept playing even when the ship was sinking, so we thought we’d better stay, too.’

‘This in’t the first war for most of us,’ a large woman with a voice to match put in. ‘If London can take it, then so can Downe.’

There was laughter and cheers and more clapping, until the musicians sat down again and began to play the first notes of ‘God Save The King’. Immediately, the audience sprang to their feet and sang with even more gusto than usual.

People were still chattering as they trooped out of the village hall into the cool early April night.

‘Wasn’t that lovely?’ Suzanne heard Mrs Holmes, one of their neighbours, say to her friend. ‘Something beautiful to listen to … and almost spoilt by those dreadful Nazis. But they have us all wrong if they think we’re scared of them.’

‘Yes, I’m glad we stayed ’til the end,’ Mrs Holmes’s friend agreed, ‘but I wonder where those bombs dropped. Downe’s been lucky so far, though Bromley’s had its share.’ She clicked her teeth. ‘Well, we’ll soon know what damage they’ve done, that’s for certain.’

‘Maman.’ Suzanne turned to her mother who was gripping her arm. ‘Constable Mason is over by the door. I’m going to have a word with him.’

‘I wish to go straight home and find out what has happened to Véronique.’

So Maman was worried as well.

‘I want to ask if he’s seen her, so just wait a moment … please, Maman.’

‘Very well. But do not keep me waiting.’

Suzanne broke from her mother’s grasp and hurried over.

‘Oh, Mr Mason, do you know if anyone was hurt in that raid just now? I’m worried about Ronnie – you know, my young sister.’

‘No one ’urt, miss, as far as I know. They all got safely into the shelter – except all of you in the village hall,’ he added. ‘You want to think yourselves lucky you and your ma didn’t come a cropper.’

‘But have you seen Ronnie?’ Suzanne persisted. ‘You know – Véronique.’

‘Not that I remember.’ PC Mason stroked his chin, making a rasping noise. ‘Mind you, they was all packed in tight so I might have overlooked her. She’s smaller than you and your other sister, in’t she?’

Suzanne nodded. ‘I can’t help being worried because she was supposed to have come to the concert this evening.’

‘I ’aven’t ’eard nothing to the contrary,’ the constable said. ‘Lucky the bombs all dropped in the field, so no real damage, thank Gawd. Even the cows and horses was spared, so I shouldn’t worry too much.’

Suzanne thanked him and turned to see Maman hovering behind her, impatiently tapping her foot.

‘What did he say?’ Simone demanded. ‘Has he seen Véronique?’

‘No, but he said everyone got into the shelter and no one was hurt.’

As far as I know, PC Mason had added. Suzanne swallowed. She didn’t want to alarm her mother, but she wouldn’t feel happy until she saw her sister, unharmed, with her own eyes.

‘That is a relief.’ Maman dabbed her eyes with a pristine handkerchief. ‘You made me worry for a moment. Let us go home and put the kettle on.’

‘You sound like a real Englishwoman,’ Suzanne said, smiling, as she tucked her arm through her mother’s for the short walk to the Victorian cottage that was home.

‘That is not a compliment for me,’ Simone admonished, the cloth bag holding her cushion looking like an elegant accessory as it dangled from her wrist. She stepped along the pavement, her high heels tapping rhythmically.

‘Just teasing, Maman. I know you’re French through and through and could never pretend otherwise.’

Her mother flashed her a smile of forgiveness. ‘I do not understand teasing, as you well know, Suzanne, but if you say it was only a joke, I will believe you.’

The whole way home Simone went over and over the unexpected air raid, each exclamation more dramatic than the one before.

‘Mr Rubenstein was taking a bad risk. We could all be dead now.’ Her mother increased her walking pace. ‘I want to see my little Véronique – to know she is safe.’

‘She told me she was coming with you.’

‘She told me the same.’ Simone’s breath came in short bursts. ‘And I do wish you would call her by her proper name, Suzanne. How many times do I ask you?’

‘She doesn’t like being called Véronique,’ Suzanne said. ‘You know what a tomboy she is, and she doesn’t feel it suits her. In a way, she’s right, but she’ll change when she’s a bit older and starts to notice the boys.’

‘She should be proud of her name,’ Simone said. ‘I gave you all beautiful French names and she and Lorraine refuse to use them.’ She glanced at Suzanne. ‘At least you do not call yourself Suzy like your sisters do. If you did, I would be very upset.’

‘Did you see Ronnie before you left?’ Suzanne asked, wanting to change the subject about their names that Maman brought up time and time again. She was resolute in trying to work out what could have happened to Ronnie.

‘She came in from a walk. I told her to wash her face and change into something presentable, but that I must leave so I am not late.’ She shook her head. ‘Sometimes I cannot believe my own daughter finds it so hard to wear anything suitable. Perhaps she decided to remain at home.’

‘I don’t think that would be her reason,’ Suzanne said worriedly. ‘She doesn’t really care about whether she’s dressed appropriately or not.’

‘Well, she should.’ Simone’s tone was non-compromising when it came to fashion and appearances.

‘I do hope she found somewhere safe in the air raid.’ Suzanne bit her lip. ‘But if she’d started out for the village hall and heard the siren, she didn’t go into the shelter – at least, Constable Mason couldn’t remember seeing her there.’

‘She knows to go under the dining table,’ her mother said firmly. ‘That is where we will find her.’

Suzanne gripped her violin case closer to her side, and unable to ignore the knot of anxiety growing in her stomach, prayed silently that her mother was right.

They heard a dog barking as they walked up the path to the front door.

‘That noise is coming from inside our house,’ Simone said, annoyance coating her words. ‘If Véronique has brought in a dog—’

Her mother didn’t finish her sentence but unlocked the front door. Suzanne followed her in, only pausing to flick the lock. She heard muffled sounds coming from the kitchen as though an animal was being smothered. Then she heard her sister say, ‘They’re home, so be a good boy.’

Simone turned to Suzanne. ‘There is a dog in there. I will not enter the kitchen until it goes. You can tell your sister. You will have to find your own supper. For me, I am not hungry.’

Suzanne pushed the door open and there was Ronnie sitting on a chair with a dog straddled across her knees. Its tail was wagging feebly. They both looked up at her entrance and Suzanne couldn’t help smiling. The dog’s head was cocked at the same angle as her sister’s, and the two pairs of eyes shone.

‘This is Rusty.’ Ronnie beamed. ‘Isn’t it the perfect name for him? It matches the colour of his head.’ She caught hold of the dog’s paw and gave a pretence of waving at Suzanne. ‘See, he knows his name already.’ The dog licked Ronnie’s hand. ‘Sorry I can’t get up. He’s rather weighing me down.’ She sighed happily.

Suzanne knelt by the chair and stroked the dog’s head, which could possibly have been described as rust-coloured once upon a time, together with a few rusty patches on an otherwise unkempt white coat. His shaggy fringe flopped into sunken eyes, now looking a little worried, or so Suzanne fancied, and his over-long ears sagged forlornly.

‘Hello, boy,’ she said. ‘Where’ve you come from?’

‘You won’t believe it,’ Ronnie said. ‘I started out for the village hall soon after Maman, but I got caught in the air raid. It was very near.’ She looked at Suzanne. ‘You must have heard it.’

‘Yes, we did,’ Suzanne said, looking at her sister anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I am now, but Rusty wasn’t.’ Ronnie stroked the dog’s head. ‘The warden spotted him – not our usual one but someone younger and so nice. Tall, dark and handsome. At least I imagine he was dark under his hat.’ She giggled. ‘Anyway, he picked Rusty up but I could see he was trying to stop some children from panicking, so I took the dog out of his arms and said I’d look after him. The poor little thing was trembling with fright. Anyway, we all rushed down the shelter steps. I knew you and Maman would be in the shelter by the village hall so I didn’t feel quite so bad that I’d missed the concert.’

‘Funnily enough, no one left,’ Suzanne said.

Ronnie’s mouth fell open. ‘Really? You mean they all stayed even after the bombs fell?’

‘Yes,’ Suzanne said, then remembered the tall man at the back. ‘Well, all except one man.’ She remembered how he’d given her a kind of apologetic nod. ‘Two of the windows shattered,’ she went on. ‘That gave us all quite a scare. I thought everyone would dash out, but they didn’t – even Maman stayed, and you know how frightened she gets.’ She stroked the dog’s head. ‘But I don’t know what we’re going to do about you, Rusty. Maman won’t allow you to stay – that’s definite.’

Rusty gave a little whine as though appealing to the two girls.

‘I’ve given him a bit of Maman’s leftovers and he scoffed it down as though he was starving.’ Ronnie suddenly grinned. ‘He wasn’t at all critical of Maman’s cooking.’

Suzanne smiled back, but when she studied the dog her expression changed. ‘He is starving,’ she said. ‘He looks pitiful.’

‘But he’s such a dear little fellow, and so grateful now he’s found me,’ Ronnie said, her face serious as she gently stroked the thin body. She looked up and sighed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to your concert, Suzy, but I couldn’t leave him. Did you remember all your notes?’

Suzanne nodded. ‘Thankfully, yes. And everyone seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Oh, that’s good.’ Ronnie lowered her voice. ‘I knew Maman would be furious about Rusty, so I put him in the shed in a cardboard box with an old cushion, hoping after I’d fed him he’d go to sleep before she came in. Then I was worried about him and brought him back into the kitchen. It’s warmer in here for him. And Maman would have to see him sooner or later, but I thought you’d talk her round when you saw what a darling he is, and how he needs us. I know she’ll take notice of you to let me keep him because you’re her favourite.’

‘You and Raine are always going on about that, and it’s simply not true.’

‘What – being the favourite?’

‘Yes. She loves us all the same.’

‘Suzy, you’re so sweet but she doesn’t.’ Ronnie looked at her older sister pityingly. ‘Anyone can see that. But it doesn’t alter anything about Rusty. So will you have a word with her?’

‘Of course I’ll have a word,’ Suzanne said. ‘But you know how Maman is. Once she says no to something it’s difficult to persuade her to change her mind. And she does have a real fear of dogs.’

‘But not Rusty,’ Ronnie said firmly. ‘Who could possibly be frightened of him?’

Suzanne leaned across and twiddled Rusty’s ear. ‘Poor little chap,’ she said. ‘You must have thought you’d found a lovely new owner when Ronnie took you home, but I’m afraid it’s Maman you have to bring round to your way of thinking. And being French, she’s very stubborn.’

Rusty gave a short bark as if he understood.

‘You are calling me stubborn, Suzanne?’

The two sisters’ heads swivelled to the kitchen door where Simone stood quivering with anger.

‘Maman, the dog desperately needs some love and attention,’ Suzanne said. ‘Couldn’t you give him a chance if he behaves himself? He’d be company for you as well when we’re at school.’

‘I do not want the company of a dog,’ Simone snapped.

‘But, Maman—’

‘I have said you may not have a dog and you are going against my wishes.’

‘Suzy, please tell Maman—’

‘It is nothing of Suzanne’s business, Véronique,’ Simone rounded on her. ‘He is to go out – now!’

‘I can’t send him out,’ Ronnie said, looking up at her mother defiantly, and holding on to the dog even more firmly. ‘He’s hungry. Look at his ribs sticking out.’

‘I am not interested in his ribs,’ Simone said, stepping into the room. Rusty flinched and started to whine. Simone’s eyes darkened with anger. ‘This is the reason you do not attend your sister’s concert – because of some smelly dog with fleas. How could you, Véronique? To put a stray dog before your own sister.’

‘It wasn’t that,’ Ronnie protested. ‘I was already on my way until the siren went off. Anyway, Suzy understands – she loves animals too.’ She glared at her mother. ‘And he doesn’t smell, nor does he have fleas,’ she added indignantly. ‘But he does need my help … and I’m going to see he gets it.’

Simone pursed her lips. ‘As long as you are under my roof you will do as I say … and that goes for both of you. I do not like dogs and this one is not healthy.’ Her glance fell on the dog who was watching her. She quickly averted her eyes. ‘We have no money for medicine and we have no spare food for an animal. He must go to the vet. They will find him a home.’ She paused, her eyes sweeping over her two daughters.

‘But, Maman, they’ll put him down,’ Ronnie said, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I saw a government leaflet in the library that said it’s the kindest thing to do to dogs and cats now we’re at war, even if they’re already people’s pets. A vet had to put a dog down the other day that was only two years old. The owner forced him.’ She looked pleadingly at Maman, and Suzanne’s heart leapt to her throat. ‘It’s not being kind, it’s cruel to put perfectly good animals down.’ Ronnie gently patted the dog’s head. ‘He’s a living being – just the same as us. And he’d only need scraps. Please give him a chance. He deserves it.’

‘Non,’ Simone said. ‘The dog must go. And they are my final words.’

Suzanne braced herself to speak to Maman on her own after supper, so when Ronnie had sneaked Rusty upstairs, Suzanne tackled her.

‘Maman, I must talk to you about Ronnie,’ Suzanne said, as she collected the dirty plates to take into the kitchen.

‘Do you not mean about the dog?’ Simone said shrewdly.

Suzanne’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ she conceded. She took in a breath to steady her voice. ‘Maman, I do think you could bend on this occasion. Ronnie hasn’t been herself since Dad died, and she’s crazy about animals. She’s always the one who comes to the rescue of any animal or bird who needs it. She’s an example to all of us. We should all be willing to help the underdog.’

‘That is a good description for that stray,’ Simone flashed.

‘It would give her something of her own,’ Suzanne said, ignoring the jibe. ‘Being the youngest, she’s always felt left out.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘It’s true,’ Suzanne returned, ‘but she covers it up.’

Maman pursed her lips.

‘She’s asked you for a dog so many times and you always say no. When Dad was alive I even heard him say you should allow her to have a dog.’

‘And how does she feed him and walk him when she is at school?’

Was Maman softening?

Suzanne took the plunge. ‘She can take him for an early walk and feed him before she goes to school. And I’ll help out as well when I come home.’

‘And what happens to him during the day?’ Simone challenged. ‘I am doing my bit for the war effort … although no one gives me any credit,’ she added. ‘I cannot be here all the time. If he is left alone he will destroy my last good pieces of furniture.’

‘We can put a cardboard box in the shed, and plenty of water. He’ll have to just wait for Ronnie and me to come home from school.’ She looked at her mother. ‘Please, Maman.’

‘I am sorry, Suzanne. It is completely out of the question. But one thing …’ She gazed at Suzanne. ‘I have also not been myself since your father died. But all of you seem to forget that.’

‘No, Maman, we never forget,’ Suzanne said quickly. ‘But Raine has her flying, and I have my music. It’s important that Ronnie has something precious of her own as well. Something to care for, to take responsibility. It will do her the world of good. So why can’t it be Rusty?’

Suzanne bounded up the stairs and knocked on Ronnie’s bedroom door.

‘Shhhh, Rusty,’ she heard Ronnie say.

Ronnie came to the door, Rusty in her arms. He wagged his tail, his eyes fixed on Suzanne.

Ronnie looked at her face. ‘Oh, Suzy, did Maman say I could keep him?’

‘Not exactly,’ Suzanne said, ‘but he’s been given a short reprieve. She said he could stay for one week, but only if he doesn’t disturb the neighbours with barking. And he cannot come anywhere in the house except your bedroom. If you want to put up with the fleas, it’s up to you, Maman said. She also said that one of us has to be with him when he’s indoors to keep him under control. In other words, you can’t leave him in your bedroom all day. And you must put a notice in the post office and the village shop to ask if anyone has lost him. You’ve got to do that right away.’

Ronnie’s face fell. ‘What if no one claims him? Did Maman say I’d have to take him to the vet to be put down?’

‘She didn’t say,’ Suzanne said, ‘but it gives him a week to get him used to us and learn his manners.’ She gently patted Rusty’s head. ‘He’ll feel better with some regular food inside him. I’m sure we can spare a small piece of soap to give him a bath tomorrow so he doesn’t smell—’

‘He doesn’t smell,’ Ronnie cut in.

‘He does a little,’ Suzanne grinned. ‘But he won’t by the time we’ve finished with him. Then maybe he might win round Maman.’

Ronnie broke into a beam. ‘Oh, Suzy, you are wonderful. Only you could persuade her. But I knew you would.’

‘Don’t get too carried away, Ronnie,’ Suzanne said, allowing Rusty to give her hand a lick. ‘Rusty’s not safe yet. But we’ll do everything we can to see that he stays – unless someone claims him first, of course.’ She glanced down at the dog who was looking up at her as though he knew his fate was in her hands. ‘Though I can’t see a queue of people fighting over him,’ she laughed.

Chapter Two

‘I have received a letter from your music teacher,’ Simone told Suzanne a few days later when she came home from school and they were having tea in the dining room.

What on earth was Miss Reeves writing to Maman about?

‘It is serious,’ Maman said, ‘so I will read it to you.’ She unfolded a sheet of paper.

‘Dear Mrs Linfoot,

‘I am writing to you regarding your daughter, Suzanne. I am sure you are aware that she is a very talented musician, both as a violinist and also a pianist, and I believe she has the potential to develop her talent much further. Yesterday I had a telephone conversation with Mr Rubenstein. He said her solo performance in the village hall recently was truly exceptional for such a young girl (I’m afraid I couldn’t attend owing to family sickness) and has suggested she should attend the Royal Academy of Music in London, full-time, starting this September.

‘If Mr Rubenstein recommends Suzanne and she is accepted, this is such a wonderful opportunity. I have already spoken to Miss Robson, the headmistress, and she has given her whole-hearted approval if Suzanne takes what could be a life-changing opportunity.

‘But before we go any further, we would obviously like to know your thoughts. If you would both like to come in and see me next week, I would be happy to discuss this further.’

Suzanne’s heart beat fast. This was so unexpected. She’d had no idea Mr Rubenstein had found her performance exceptional in any way. It had once been her dream to be accepted into a prestigious music school and one day take her place in the London Philharmonic Orchestra. But Miss Reeves had dashed her hopes when she said in a matter-of-fact tone that women were rarely accepted in a professional orchestra.

‘Unless you play the harp,’ Miss Reeves said, her glasses practically falling off her nose. ‘And even then, you wouldn’t be seen by the audience – your place would be well and truly in the wings.’ The tutor grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t even be acknowledged on the programme.’

‘That’s so unfair,’ Suzanne blurted.

‘I’m afraid you’ll find that life’s unfair,’ Miss Reeves said, a slightly bitter edge to her voice as she pushed her glasses back into position.

At the time, Suzanne had been bitterly disappointed, another dream in ashes. Why on earth should she learn the harp? What a ridiculous rule it was, but she’d had to accept it.

Simone looked up from the letter. ‘So, chérie, what do you say?’

Suzanne’s thoughts flew in different directions. Maman impatiently tapped her foot.

‘You were always very firm about me taking my Higher Certificate,’ Suzanne said, playing for time.

‘Because Lorraine let the family down by leaving school before her final year,’ Simone said. ‘She would not listen to me. She does not stop to think how I worry about her constantly, flying those dangerous contraptions that girls should not be allowed to operate. But this letter, Suzanne—’ she waved it in the air ‘—it changes everything. You will have wonderful training for a music career. Something to be proud of.’

‘Well, I’m proud of Raine,’ Suzanne returned. ‘She’s doing something very worthwhile. She’s directly helping the war effort.’

‘Music is worthwhile, also,’ Simone said sharply, her cup clattering onto its saucer.

‘Yes, I agree. But it’s not that simple.’ Suzanne regarded her mother. ‘Did you know it’s almost unheard of for a woman to be accepted in professional orchestras?’

‘What nonsense,’ Simone retorted. ‘You play as well as any man. If not, why did this Mr Rubenstein make this suggestion?’

‘Maybe he thinks I’d be a good teacher … but that’s not what I want.’ Suzanne paused. ‘So you really are in favour of me leaving school?’

A dreamy smile broke out on her mother’s face. ‘My daughter at a London conservatoire. Nearly so good as the one in Paris.’

‘I’d like to think about it,’ Suzanne said. ‘It’s a big decision.’

‘Mais bien sûr,’ Simone said, getting up and kissing her cheek. ‘But you will answer me “yes”, will you not? And then one day everyone will know your name.’

Suzanne could tell her mother was excited about the prospect of her daughter becoming famous, but fame was not Suzanne’s idea of happiness. She would rather be known for bringing joy to people, especially where there was precious little. And because the country was in the middle of a war, she desperately wanted to help make a difference, however small. But what could she do?

‘I’ll think about it, Maman,’ she repeated.

Her mother frowned. ‘Do not be long thinking,’ she said. ‘The opportunity might not always be there for you. And you will only have yourself to blame.’

Maman couldn’t have made herself any clearer.

If only Raine was here, Suzanne thought, as she changed the sheets on her bed, top to bottom, then smoothed a fresh one on the top as she did every fortnight. Raine would understand. Her sister had had a terrible time defying Maman but she’d won in the end. Raine was the strong one. She’d sent Suzanne a letter wishing her good luck for the concert and she was sorry to miss it but the ferry pool was going full pelt. She mentioned she’d just completed the third twelve-hour day in a row. Suzanne smiled to herself. This wasn’t a grumble from her older sister. She knew Raine adored her work as a ferry pilot as much as she loved playing her instruments.

The trouble was, unlike Raine, Suzanne found it hard to stand up to her mother. Dad had lost so much money not long before he died, which put the family in a difficult situation, but her mother had still managed to continue to pay for one of the best music tutors in Bromley, funding the extra violin lessons from her own nest egg.

It was the war. This was what changed everything. It wasn’t so bad at the moment while she was still at school, but she’d be taking her final exams this June. Some of her friends had already left school at sixteen and seventeen to work in munitions factories or hospitals, or join one of the forces, determined to do their bit for the war effort, whereas she, at eighteen, hadn’t planned anything.

She couldn’t help feeling guilty but she knew she didn’t have the kind of grit one needed to join the military. All that marching to bellowed orders from her superiors, shrieking at her when she made a mistake or had left a button undone or scuffed a shoe, made her tremble with anxiety. Conscription had recently come in for single women between twenty and thirty, but that could change at any time.

‘Come and join the WRNS with me, Suzy,’ her friend Rita had said a few weeks ago. ‘It’ll be fun being together and you could probably play in the band in your spare time.’ She regarded Suzanne with a worried frown. ‘Thing is, you’ll be twenty before you know it and then they might choose for you, and you’ll probably be made to join the ATS … and their uniform isn’t half as smart as the Wrens’,’ she added slyly.

‘But I’ve never learnt to play any of the brass instruments,’ Suzanne protested. She didn’t add that playing in a military band had no appeal.

‘With your talent you’d soon learn,’ Rita came back quick as a flash.

The trouble was, if she had to learn another instrument from the beginning she’d be neglecting her violin practice. Her violin that she loved as an extension of herself. And she definitely wouldn’t have any spare leisure time to play the piano. She’d never hear the last of it from Maman. And she wouldn’t blame her.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Suzanne had told Rita.

But she knew she wouldn’t. There had to be another way of helping the war effort. There just had to be.

And now this. Her mother wanted her – no, she’d more or less ordered her – to go to London to study music. No doubt it would be for at least three years. Her old dream come true, but she’d be protected from the outside world, and wouldn’t be helping the war effort. But what choice did she have?

Suzanne sighed as she plumped the pillow and folded her nightdress, tucking it inside its cover that she’d embroidered in sewing class. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion that she would even be accepted at the music school, but she owed it to her mother to try. Maman loved classical music but had never learned to play an instrument, saying she had no aptitude, so she was putting all her dreams into her talented daughter, as she often freely admitted. Suzanne shrugged. Maybe a miracle would happen and the war would end soon and she could go off to London with a glad heart. Although watching Pathé News at the cinema last week when she and Rita had gone to see Sally Gray in Dangerous Moonlight, she wasn’t at all convinced it was about to happen.

‘Suzanne!’ Her mother’s call broke into her thoughts.

‘Yes, Maman?’

‘I have made coffee. Véronique has gone to the library with that dog, so we can talk without being disturbed.’

Suzanne’s heart sank. Maman would expect an answer, but only the answer she insisted upon. With a sigh she turned and slowly walked out of the bedroom and down the staircase where her mother was waiting for her.

‘Well, Suzanne?’

‘I will go to London, Maman, if you think it is the right thing for me to do, even with a war on.’

‘I, and many others, it seems.’ Simone’s face lit up. ‘It is a very sensible decision. You must not waste your gift – even with the war. I will telephone Miss Reeves tomorrow morning to discuss the next step.’

‘Everyone’s talking as though I’ve already been offered a place,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’d have to do an audition first before they accept me.’

‘You will do it standing on top of your head,’ Simone said.

‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’ Suzanne gave a wry smile.

She was glad she’d made her mother happy, but there was still that niggling doubt in her mind.

‘I see,’ Suzanne heard her mother say into the receiver. ‘Well, it is most inconvenient, but I suppose it cannot be helped.’ Her mother tilted her head. ‘No, thank you, Miss Reeves is the lady I must talk to.’ Simone put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Miss Reeves is away,’ she muttered to Suzanne who was putting her coat on to go to her rehearsal. Her mother removed her hand and spoke to whoever it was on the other end. ‘When she is returned, would you please ask her to telephone me?’

There was a minute’s pause while her mother listened, then rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘Yes, yes, I understand. The Easter holidays. Maybe a delay. Thank you.’ Simone slammed the receiver down and swept into the dining room.

‘That was Miss Robson, your headmistress,’ she said. ‘Miss Reeves is still attending to the sick family member. They do not know when she is coming back.’

Her mother would be even more annoyed if she suspected the flicker of relief in her middle daughter’s heart, Suzanne thought, as she shut the front door behind her and briskly walked to St Mary’s Church for the rehearsal.

As usual, the sight of the pretty flint-built parish church with its stained-glass windows lifted her spirits. She thought of Charles Darwin’s family attending the Sunday service so many years ago. People had gone before her and people would go after her, but this was today and it was her turn to appreciate its special ambience.

She heard the others tuning their instruments before she’d heaved open the heavy oak door. She smiled. Although she was happy playing set pieces in her bedroom when no one was around, it was wonderful to be with other musicians. They could tackle different pieces when they were together. That was when she felt part of a real orchestra even though it was only a fraction of the size.

She stepped inside and looked round to see who was there and spotted Mr Rubenstein neatly folding his coat like a parcel and leaving it on one of the chairs. Four men and four women had already assembled.

It’s lovely to know our little group isn’t bound by the stiff regulations of professional orchestras, Suzanne thought, as she smiled and nodded to everyone.

All the men were older, most of them having already played their part as soldiers in the Great War and now finding comfort in music. Mr Barton had a missing leg but it didn’t stop him from being a superb cellist. Three women were in their fifties or even sixties, and only Wendy was younger – maybe in her mid-twenties – much too young to be a widow.

The smell of the interior was comforting – a mix of candles and old books and furniture polish. Very little warmth escaped from the two paraffin stoves; any heat they managed to produce rose straight up to the high oak-beamed ceiling. Yet however cold she was before she began, once she started playing, all discomforts evaporated and she was totally absorbed.

The conductor was now turning over his sheets of music, frowning. She wondered if she should say anything in front of the others to thank him for recommending her to attend the Royal Academy of Music. Maybe best not to. It might look like favouritism, or that she was bragging. She’d have a word after the rehearsal if she could get him on his own.

The rehearsal was not one of their best. Suzanne found it difficult to concentrate, and more than once she didn’t come in on perfect time. Mr Rubenstein said nothing but raised his eyebrows in question. Some of the others stumbled with their pieces, which was unusual as they’d played Dvorak’s ‘Slavonic Dances’ several times before.

‘We’ll have a tea break,’ Mr Rubenstein said a half an hour later, putting down his baton. ‘Maybe that will buck you all up.’

‘Tea’s all ready, sir.’ Mrs Jackson, one of the volunteers, bustled through from the kitchen. ‘And there’s some nice ginger cake Mrs Henry made this morning especially for you all.’

While the group were chatting together and enjoying Mrs Henry’s cake, Wendy lightly touched her arm.

‘I need to talk to you about something, Suzanne,’ she said, her green eyes gleaming. ‘Bring your tea over to one of the tables.’

When they’d settled on the hard chairs, Wendy leaned forward.

‘I didn’t want to mention it until it was definite, but I’ve heard now that I’m in,’ she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

‘In what?’ Suzanne found herself whispering back.

‘I’ve joined ENSA.’ Wendy waited to let her words sink in. ‘I’m just waiting to hear when I actually start.’

Suzanne shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘What’s Ensa?’

‘E-N-S-A,’ Wendy spelt it out. ‘Capital letters. It’s an organisation they set up at the beginning of the war to entertain the troops. They go all over the place, sometimes even abroad – wherever the fighting boys are – like Vera Lynn does. You must have heard of it. They call it “Every Night Something Awful”.’ She giggled. Suzanne realised it was the first time she’d ever seen Wendy so animated.

‘Why would you want to play with them if they’re awful?’

‘It’s not the official name,’ Wendy said, still chuckling. ‘It’s Entertainments National Service Association.’

‘How did you find out about it?’

‘Through The Stage magazine. They were advertising and I thought, why not?’

‘Well, I’ve heard that Vera Lynn sings to the troops,’ Suzanne said, ‘but what’s that got to do with the kind of music you play? Unless you sing as well.’

Wendy’s face flushed with eagerness. ‘Funnily enough, they gave me an audition to sing a few songs as they’d been let down by one of the singers.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘How did they guess it’s something I’ve always fantasised about doing? Anyway, I put my heart and soul in it—’ She stopped and giggled again. ‘Actually, that’s what I sang at the audition – “Heart And Soul” – and they said yes!’ She looked round the room but everyone was chatting and intent on enjoying Mrs Henry’s ginger cake. ‘Oh, Suzanne, I’m so excited – I can’t wait to go.’

Suzanne felt she was being swept away with Wendy’s enthusiasm. Her heart beat a little more quickly.

‘Tell me more about this ENSA.’

‘Well, it’s quite varied. They’ve always had comedians and singers and drama groups – often with famous actors like Jack Hawkins – but they’re big on swing bands.’

Suzanne’s mouth fell open. ‘And you can really sing to that kind of music?’

‘I sing along with the wireless all the time.’ Wendy grinned. ‘Look, why don’t you join up, too? It’d be fun – if you like swing and jazz, that is.’ She took a gulp of tea and sat back, keeping her eyes fixed on Suzanne.

‘Who doesn’t?’ Suzanne said, her heart leaping. Was this the sign she’d been waiting for? She wouldn’t have dreamt of being a jazz violinist in normal times – she could just picture Maman’s face – but these weren’t normal times. She gazed back at Wendy, stupefied.

‘Do they allow women musicians?’

‘Course they do. Bands aren’t stuffy like orchestras. You must’ve heard of Ivy Benson?’

‘Yes, I love her band. I saw them play when my sister and I went to the Palais in Bromley once, but she’s different. It’s all female. And because it’s her own band she can make her own rules, and for once turn the tables and not let the men in.’ Suzanne relaxed into a smile for the first time in the conversation.

‘That’s true. But with men being called up to fight, they’re leaving plenty of gaps in big bands for women.’ She grabbed Suzanne’s hand. ‘I’ll introduce you to George Johnson. He’s ever so nice. I’m sure you’d like him.’

‘George Johnson?’ Suzanne’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re in George Johnson’s band?’

‘Yes, but a smaller version as it’s too big a band for them all to go.’ Wendy rose to her feet as Mr Rubenstein called the group to return to their places. She looked down at Suzanne who remained glued to her chair. ‘You’d have to be “Suzy” from now on because “Suzanne” doesn’t sound right at all for this sort of music. It needs something more modern.’ She gave her a sly smile. ‘It’ll be such fun. You need to live a little. Come on, I dare you.’

‘I don’t know anything about this ENSA,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’m not sure I’d be suitable.’ She hesitated. ‘Although it does sound exciting.’

Wendy reached into her handbag and pulled out a small notebook. She scribbled something down and tore out the page.

‘Here,’ she said, slipping it into Suzanne’s coat pocket. ‘I want you to think about it seriously. It would do you good to break free.’ Suzanne startled and Wendy laughed. ‘It’s obvious,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you tell me your sister is a pilot against your mother’s wishes? She’s managed to break the chains, but that probably means you’re bound even tighter now.’

Suzanne hesitated – caught between irritation that it should be so obvious, and loyalty to her mother.

‘Sorry,’ Wendy said, and laughed. ‘I might be completely barking up the wrong tree.’

‘No, you’re not, if I’m truthful.’ Suzanne surprised herself by her response. ‘Wendy, when’s your last rehearsal with us?’

‘One more after tonight,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m telling Mr Rubenstein it’s no good rehearsing for something I shan’t be playing.’

‘Oh, Wendy, I’m going to miss you.’

‘Ladies,’ Mr Rubenstein called to them. ‘Would you please stop talking and take your seats, so we can all get home at a reasonable hour.’

Somehow Suzanne couldn’t put her heart into the pieces Mr Rubenstein had chosen. She kept thinking about Wendy and the different turn her friend’s life was about to take.

‘See you next week, Suzy,’ Wendy winked, after the rehearsal. Then she was gone.

Chapter Three

Oh, Wendy, if only you knew how I couldn’t possibly join these ENSA people.

Suzanne picked her way home after the rehearsal in the nightly blackout. Holding her torch pointing downwards, with its regulation cover of a double piece of tissue paper secured by an elastic band, it didn’t give more than the merest glow under the smothering blanket of pitch darkness. It was unnerving not seeing where she was going. Someone could jump out at her. Rob her of her violin. Fear crawled over her scalp. She was being childish, she knew, but she’d always hated the dark and dreaded this twice-weekly walk. Wendy lived in completely the opposite direction. Sometimes one of the other members who lived further down her street, a kind elderly gentleman, accompanied her. But he hadn’t shown up this evening.

I hope he’s not poorly or had an accident, she thought, as she stumbled along.

Something brushed against her leg. She bit back a scream. Dear God, what was it? ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice shook as her fingers gripped the violin case tighter. There was a plaintive mew. Then she saw a pure white cat slink into a side alley between some houses. Berating herself for being so nervous, she couldn’t help smiling. People nowadays often tied a white band over their coat at night so they didn’t get run over in the blackout. This cat carried its own permanent safety covering as protection.

Suzanne kept close to the shop entrances where it was safer in an unexpected air raid. But a few steps further she heard her violin case bang against something. Damn! She shone the weak light onto the shape of a pillar box. If she wasn’t more careful she’d have a nasty accident. In the dark she glared at the offending torch, and in a moment of uncharacteristic rebellion she tore off the cover. Ah, that was so much better. A proper light. She could actually make out where she was going.

Calmer now, Suzanne turned her thoughts again to Wendy, and the piece of paper with ENSA’s address mocking her loyalty to her mother’s wishes.

She had to admit Wendy had come alive this evening. The young widow had seemed a romantically tragic figure to Suzanne, as she’d told her that her husband had been killed in the first month of fighting. But Suzanne had noticed Wendy’s fingers were ringless. Maybe they hadn’t been as happy as she’d imagined. Or maybe this was Wendy’s way of trying to shut out the dreadful tragedy of her past and look to the future. Well, whatever the reason it wasn’t her business.

She and Wendy had been drawn to one another as the two youngest members. Apart from rehearsals they’d been to the pictures occasionally, and last summer Wendy had invited Suzanne and a couple of friends for an afternoon tea in her garden. But tonight had been different. Wendy was suggesting something Maman would consider outrageous and the ruin of everything she had planned for her daughter. Her mother would never let her forget she’d paid out all that money for music lessons when they could ill afford it.

Oh, but how tempted she was. She’d never played jazz although she could listen to it all night. That evening – was it really two years ago? – she’d gone to the Palais with Raine, and Ivy Benson and her girls had shared the bill with another swing band. She hadn’t made up her mind which band she’d enjoyed most that evening, but she’d been particularly intrigued with Ivy Benson’s. That lady hadn’t been at all perturbed that she’d been barred from playing in a professional orchestra. She’d simply formed her own. And she and her girls had all looked as though they were thoroughly enjoying themselves that evening. Suzanne remembered how she’d almost wished she was up there playing with them. She wondered if they were also in this ENSA.

It was the same night she and her sister had met Alec Marshall, who’d made it clear he had his eye on Raine, and Raine had been so horrible to him. He’d said they didn’t even look like sisters and not just because Raine was dark-haired and Suzanne was blonde. It was because Raine had been so bad-tempered that evening. Suzanne smiled at the memory.

Her thoughts switched to Wendy again. Wendy, the violinist, becoming a singer in a band. How brave she was to try something so new. Jazz was so different with its strange, inconsistent beats … so fast and loud, but there was something about it that was infectious. Well, heady, if she was honest.

It started to rain. At first it was a drizzle but it intensified within minutes. Suzanne struggled to pull up the collar of her coat but failed as she couldn’t let go of the violin case or the torch. Water splashed down the back of her neck in cold rivulets. The damp seeped into her bones. Oh, why had she put her felt hat on this evening? It would be soaked and Maman would be annoyed with her. Hats, to Maman, were the key to being a lady. Suzanne’s shoulder bag slipped down her arm, the one carrying her violin case, and she tried to shrug it back up, all the time gripping her torch and shining it ahead so she didn’t smash into anything else.

‘What the devil are you doing waving that torch around?’

Suzanne startled, every muscle in her body rigid with the shock of a man’s voice from behind. Her heart thumped against her ribs as she set the violin case down to see who was being so rude. She knew she’d broken the law and that she might have to pay a penalty, but it had seemed worth the risk to get home safely. But it hadn’t paid off. Maman would be furious that she’d disobeyed the rules.

The next thing she knew was a light shining on her face. She blinked.

‘Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your torch pointing downwards so you don’t give any signal to the enemy, young lady?’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘I’m going to have to take your name and address.’

She was cold and tired and scared. Now this.

Something snapped inside her.

‘Who are you?’

‘The ARP warden.’

Without thinking she shone her own torch several inches up into his face and almost gasped aloud. He certainly didn’t look like Mr Draper, the village ARP warden. Quite the opposite, in fact. Much younger and much more attractive. She wondered if he was the one Ronnie was on about who’d first found Rusty. She lowered the beam.

‘Oh, I see why your torch was so bright,’ he said, glowering down at her. ‘You didn’t cover the glass.’

‘That’s right,’ Suzanne said firmly, sure of herself now. ‘It was covered when I left the village hall, but when I started walking home it was so pitch-black I couldn’t see where I was going and—’

‘But you know the law – don’t you?’ he interrupted, his tone remaining stern.

‘Yes,’ Suzanne admitted. ‘I also know the law says ARP wardens are supposed to be in uniform so the public know they’re dealing with an official. As you’re not wearing one, I have no idea who you are, so I will certainly not be giving you my name and address.’

She turned on her heel, but her foot caught the edge of the kerb. With a cry she tumbled to the pavement, still grasping the handle of her violin case, which banged on the concrete. Her torch flew from her fingers and she heard the tinkle of thin glass shattering.

‘I’m sorry, but I tried to catch you. Are you hurt?’

The man had crouched down beside her. His tone had changed to one of concern. She shook her head and tried to sit up. ‘My knee.’ She’d torn her stocking and she could see blood seeping through. But never mind the blood. They were her last good pair. Damn and blast! If he hadn’t stopped her she’d be home by now.

‘You need to get that knee seen to.’ Gently, he pulled her gloved fingers from the violin case.

‘My violin! Oh, I hope I haven’t damaged it.’ Tears of anger welled in her eyes. ‘It’s the second time I’ve banged it tonight.’

‘I don’t think it will have come to any harm. That’s what the case is for.’ She heard him set it down. ‘Here, let me help you up.’

Reluctantly, she took his hand and he hoisted her to her feet, then pulled her close to steady her. For a long moment she was aware of the strength of his arms. She felt her cheeks flush and was glad it was too dark for him to see.

There was a silence. Then he said, ‘Look, why don’t you come with me to my mother’s house. She only lives round the corner. Let me take you back and we’ll look at that knee. And you can check your violin is none the worse in a safer place than on the street,’ he added, invitingly.

Suzanne opened her mouth to say she would do all that when she got home. But her knee was throbbing alarmingly.

‘You’re right in one respect. I’m not a certified warden although I am one this evening.’ He pointed to a white armband with ‘ARP’ printed on it, which she could just make out. ‘Brian Draper asked if I could stand in for him a few days. He’s come down with the flu.’

Feeling more confident, Suzanne said, ‘So who are you really?’

‘James Mortimer, at your service. I’d give you a bow if you could see it.’

His voice carried a hint of amusement. It was so different from how he’d spoken to her at first, telling her off about her torchlight, that it threw her into confusion.

She knew the name. Maman had mentioned a Mrs Mortimer in her knitting group.

‘I’m in the Royal Navy, on leave at the moment and staying with my mother, so you’ll be perfectly safe.’

‘Thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I’m quite able to walk home now,’ she said, coolly, picking up her case. ‘Thank you for helping me but all I need now is my torch.’

‘I’ve got it, but I’m afraid it’s had it.’ He handed it to her. She glanced at the smashed glass and, furious with him and herself, shoved it in her pocket. ‘I don’t think you have any choice,’ he said. ‘It’ll be too dangerous to try to find your way home with a bad knee and no light at all. And unless you live nearer than two minutes away, my mother’s is the best option.’

She hesitated. He was right. She didn’t have any choice.

Biting back her annoyance, she said, ‘All right. Thank you.’ She hadn’t meant it to sound quite so churlish but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘And you’d better hang on to me. You don’t want to risk another fall.’

She felt for the crook of his arm and slipped her hand through it. She wished she could see his face again, but it was impossible. All she could do was limp alongside him, her hand gripping his arm like a lifeline, and him asking her once or twice if she was okay.

She was thankful when they rounded the corner and James Mortimer pointed to a house standing on its own and set back from the street, the windows carefully blacked out with blinds.

‘Here we are,’ he said. He took a key from his pocket and shone his torch for a split second on the front door. ‘Come on in.’ He helped Suzanne through and into the hallway. He hung his hat on a hat stand in the wide entrance hall where a light from a lamp on a table sent out a feeble glow.

Trying hard not to stare she couldn’t help noticing she hadn’t been wrong about his face, now enhanced by nut-brown hair, the front flopping over a smooth forehead, a strong nose and jaw, and intelligent grey-blue eyes, under dark brows.

Those eyes caught hers and he grinned.

‘Is that you, James?’ a voice called.

‘Yes, Mother. And I’ve brought someone to meet you.’

He took Suzanne’s arm and led her through one of the doors. She found herself in a large sitting room, where a woman who looked to be in her fifties, the same nut-brown hair in a carelessly pinned chignon, was sitting by a dying fire, embroidering. She immediately rose to her feet.

‘Hello, my dear. Won’t you come in?’ She turned to her son. ‘James, help the young lady off with that wet coat.’

‘I’m sorry it’s so late to barge in like this,’ Suzanne started, as James took her violin case and released her from the coat, ‘but—’

‘But she fell over and I was the knight in shining armour. Well, not at first, I’m afraid. I told her off for having her torch on full beam. She gave me a piece of her mind.’

Mrs Mortimer smiled at Suzanne. ‘He can be a bit too quick to judge sometimes,’ she said. ‘I do apologise if he was rude in any way.’

‘I think he was taking his new duty a bit too much to heart,’ Suzanne said, managing a smile.

‘Just like his father. Whatever he did, he had to do it perfectly. And James is exactly the same.’

Suzanne threw a glance at him and he grinned like a naughty schoolboy. ‘Don’t listen to Mother. She loves me really.’ He paused. ‘Here, let me take your hat. It looks rather a sorry sight from that downpour.’

‘Sit down by the fire – for what little warmth it gives with coal now rationed. You look frozen.’ Mrs Mortimer’s face was one of concern. ‘James, be a dear and pull that chair nearer.’

‘Oh, please don’t go to any trouble,’ Suzanne said, taking her hat off but keeping hold of it. ‘It’s getting late and my family will worry where I am.’

‘I think you must at least let us look at your knee before you go,’ James said. ‘Come and sit here and I’ll take a dekko.’ When she didn’t say anything, he said, ‘No need to worry about my credentials – I’m certified in First Aid.’

She’d have to roll down her stocking. No, she couldn’t do it in front of a man. As though Mrs Mortimer understood her hesitation, she said, ‘James, go and put the kettle on. She’s—’ She broke off. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear, I don’t know your name.’

‘Suzanne Linfoot.’

‘Oh, I know your mother,’ Mrs Mortimer said. ‘She comes and knits with us – shows us where we’re going wrong, even though we’ve all been knitting donkeys’ years longer.’ She laughed, but it was a nice laugh. ‘Are you on the telephone at home?’

Suzanne nodded.

‘Well, give me your number and I’ll ring her and tell her what’s happened. Then she won’t worry, and you can sit here and have a cup of tea. You’ve had a shock and I’m not sending you out again until I feel quite satisfied that you’ll be all right.’

‘It’s too much trouble,’ Suzanne began, but Mrs Mortimer wouldn’t hear of it, and a minute later she could hear Mrs Mortimer speaking to Maman.

‘There, that’s settled,’ Mrs Mortimer said, coming back into the room and reclaiming her chair. ‘I told her James will see you home safely.’

‘Did I hear my name?’ James put his head round the door.

‘Yes, dear. I told Suzanne’s mother you’d go with her when she’s had her cup of tea and is fit enough to walk home.’

‘There’s no need, honestly,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ll be perfectly all right.’

‘That’s as may be,’ James said, grinning, ‘but funnily enough, I was going that way myself later on this evening. I’ll just be a few minutes earlier, that’s all.’

Suzanne laughed at the absurdity. Why fight against them? They were being kind and fussing over her. She had to admit it was rather nice.

‘Anyway, kettle’s boiling. I shan’t be a minute.’ He disappeared again.

‘While he’s gone you can ease down your stocking,’ Mrs Mortimer said. ‘I should let him have a look. He really is good at first aid.’

Suzanne rolled down her stocking. Blood had seeped through the broken skin that was already swollen with an angry purple bruise emerging.

When James came back carrying the tea tray he glanced over to her, and his eyes dropped to her legs.

‘Good. I’ll have a look at that knee before I pour.’

He set the tray down and pulled up a low stool. Embarrassment flooding through her body, she thrust out her leg.

‘Hmm, that’s a nasty graze,’ he said. ‘A dab of TCP wouldn’t come amiss.’ He was back in an instant waving the familiar bottle and a white flannel.

‘You can’t beat it,’ he said, ‘but the sting is awful.’

‘The smell is bad enough,’ she said, smiling, but as the flannel soaked with TCP came into contact with the still-bleeding graze, she couldn’t stop her sharp hiss of breath.

‘Agggh, that really hurt.’

‘I have to be cruel to be kind,’ he said, looking up and meeting her eyes. ‘You know, Suzanne, now I can see you more clearly, I realise it was you I heard playing the violin solo the other evening in the village hall. Mendelssohn, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Suzanne said, irrationally pleased he’d heard the concert. ‘But I don’t remember seeing you.’ She wished she could have bitten the words back. He’d think her awfully forward.

But he didn’t seem to think anything of the kind. ‘I had to leave when the air-raid siren went off, so I only heard the first bit,’ he said. ‘That was my first day standing in for Brian Draper.’

‘Oh, I noticed someone leaving,’ Suzanne said, breaking into a mischievous grin.

‘Did you think I was rushing off to the shelter?’ James’s eyes were teasing. He was still looking up at her. ‘Well, I was, but not in the way you might have thought.’

‘N-no, of course not,’ she said, feeling her cheeks warm. ‘But even if you had been, I couldn’t blame you.’

‘Hmm. Your face tells me something different.’ He laughed again and gave another dab of the flannel.

‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ Mrs Mortimer said. ‘He’s a terrible tease.’ She looked over at the violin case. ‘You must be the musician in the family. Your mother’s always mentioning how talented you are. She’s very proud of you – I can tell. I was sorry to have missed the concert. I’d bought a ticket but had to do an extra shift at the Red Cross.’

‘That reminds me,’ James said, getting to his feet. ‘You wanted to check the violin hadn’t come to any harm. Do you trust me to open it and have a look? I’ve got quite a sharp eye.’

Suzanne nodded.

Carefully taking the violin from its case, he turned it this way and that, then held it up to the ceiling where the light fell in a weak pool on the instrument.

‘No sign of any dent,’ he said triumphantly, handing it back to her.

Taking him at his word, Suzanne laid the violin back in its case and snapped the clasps.

She found herself relaxing in the Mortimers’ company. There was no awkwardness in the conversation, considering she’d never set eyes on either of them before.

She finished the welcome cup of tea, then stood.

‘I really must go,’ she said, ‘but I can’t thank you both enough for your kindness.’

‘Pop in any time you’d like a chat, my dear,’ Mrs Mortimer said, rising to her feet. ‘If I’m home I’d love to see you.’ She picked up a pencil and jotted something down on the back of an envelope, then handed it to Suzanne. ‘Our telephone number,’ she said, the same grey-blue smiling eyes as her son lighting her handsome features. ‘So there’s no excuse. Come for a cup of tea … any time.’

‘I’d love to do that,’ Suzanne answered, picking up her coat and thinking she just might take Mrs Mortimer up on the invitation.

James immediately took the coat from her and helped her on with it. Her knee was sore and throbbing now but she mustn’t let them know. She felt as if she’d already overstayed her welcome.

‘Right, shall we go?’

She nodded. He opened the front door and they stepped out into the damp night.

James broke the silence. ‘At least the rain’s eased off.’

He insisted she hold his arm again, and this time he carried the violin case, his torch in the other hand. Grateful he’d set a gentle pace, she couldn’t resist glancing up at him.

‘I thought I was getting to know a lot of people by now,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never seen you in the village before.’

‘Probably because I’m rarely here. I’m based in Scotland.’

‘Oh.’

He didn’t elaborate so she didn’t pursue it. He obviously wasn’t allowed to say where. He asked her about her family and she briefly told him about Raine and Ronnie.

‘Sounds like Raine is doing a magnificent job in the war effort,’ he said.

‘She is. I wish I was doing something important to help as well.’

‘I’m sure it will happen. You’re still young.’

‘Not so young,’ she said defensively.

He grinned. ‘You are to me. I’m twenty-four in a few days. It feels ancient sometimes, especially in this damnable war.’ He looked at her. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of a lady, but it is bloody damnable.’

Suzanne laughed. ‘At sixpence a go, that’s one-and-six you owe the swear box – even though I agree with you.’

He joined in her laughter. It was strange how perfectly comfortable she felt with him by the time they turned into her street. She almost wished their conversation could have carried on longer.

At the gate outside her small front garden he carefully set down the case.

‘Thank you for rescuing me, Mr Mortimer,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘It was very kind of you. And for administering the dreaded TCP.’

He chuckled. ‘It works, though. But I’ll only accept your thanks if you call me James.’

He gazed at her, then took her hand in his, and although the night air was cool, his fingers encircling hers were warm. For a mad moment she wondered what it would be like to feel his mouth on hers. She drew her hand quickly away.

‘I couldn’t very well mention this in front of my mother,’ he said, studying her face intently, ‘but even though it’s dark and a bit foggy, you do have the most incredible eyes, Suzanne. They’re like purple pansies.’

She smiled a little self-consciously. ‘My mother and sisters all have the same colour. Raine calls it the Linfoot trademark.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Talking of mothers – do go and see mine. She meant it, you know.’

‘I know she did.’ Suzanne picked up the case. He stepped forward and opened the low front gate. She passed through and clicked it shut behind her, then turned to face him. ‘Goodnight – and thank you again … James.’

‘Goodnight, Suzanne.’ He looked directly at her. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit rough on you, but you do understand we have to keep strictly to the regulations.’

‘You were doing your job … even if you were in civvies,’ she added with a smile.

‘Touché.’ He smiled back and something stirred in her blood. ‘I hope we might bump into each other again.’

‘Perhaps we will.’

‘Then let it be soon because they don’t give me much time off.’ He touched his hat and strode away.

Her heart beating a little too fast, she rang the bell of her front door.

‘You had me worried to death,’ her mother said, as she let her in. ‘Come and take off those wet clothes. I want to hear all about Mrs Mortimer’s house.’

Chapter Four

‘Beatrice Mortimer is a widow with only one son,’ Simone remarked when Suzanne brought her in a cup of cocoa. She fixed her eyes on her daughter. ‘You know he is in the Royal Navy?’

‘That’s what he told me.’

‘An officer, I believe.’ When Suzanne didn’t reply, Simone persisted. ‘Suzanne, I warn you – you must not fall in love with him. He will be away at sea for long periods, and that is not good for the wife at home.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Suzanne rounded on her mother. Really, Maman was too dramatic for words. ‘I fell over. He took me to his mother’s to put some TCP on my knee. Then I had a cup of tea with them, and as I’d broken my torch in the fall, he kindly brought me home. He’s a total stranger. But you’ve already pegged me as his wife.’

‘These things can happen very quickly,’ Maman said, her eyebrows raised as she studied her. ‘Especially in times of war. And Mrs Mortimer is a powerful lady. She dominates the knitting class.’

‘She also works for the Red Cross.’

Maman raised her eyebrows. ‘You seem to know much about her,’ she said.

‘Well, there’s no need for you to read anything into the evening,’ Suzanne said firmly. She stood up. ‘I’m going to see Ronnie and Rusty, and then have an early night.’

Maman had made it clear that she was wary of the Mortimers. And although she loved her mother, it made Suzanne determined to take no notice of her opinion.

The rest of the week flew by and by the end of his probation period Rusty looked like a different dog. He was still thin but his ribs weren’t so prominent, and his head and the patches on his coat now lived up to his new name since Suzanne had helped Ronnie give him a bath in an old tin tub. No one had answered Ronnie’s ‘lost dog’ messages she’d pinned up on the board in the post office and village shop, but every time the telephone rang Suzanne noticed her sister jump up to take the call. And every time it was someone for Maman, Ronnie would hand over the receiver, a relieved grin on her face.

‘You’ve been a very good boy, Rusty,’ Ronnie said on his last day. ‘I’m going to beg Maman to let you stay. I don’t see how she can refuse you now.’

Ronnie had rushed to the shed after school and brought him out. After a few joyful barks he was now sitting quietly by her feet in the kitchen, looking up at her adoringly as Suzanne made the tea.

Their mother hadn’t set eyes on Rusty since that first day.

‘He’s part of the family now,’ Ronnie said, patting him. ‘Maman can’t make me take him to the vet now, surely.’ She puckered her forehead and looked at Suzanne. ‘Do you think I should take him in to see her and show her how much better he looks and how well he’s behaving, Suzy?’

‘I shouldn’t. I know you’re hoping to soften Maman’s heart but I wouldn’t remind her it’s a week today,’ Suzanne said. ‘We’ll just have to cross our fingers that Maman hasn’t realised.’

Ronnie shut Rusty in the kitchen while they took the tea tray and some broken biscuits, all the grocer had been able to offer Maman, much to her disgust, into the front room where she was writing a letter.

‘Merci, chérie.’ Their mother blotted her letter and smiled as she graciously extended her hand to take the cup. ‘You will both join me?’

‘Yes, of course, Maman,’ Suzanne said, jumping up to fetch two extra cups. They’d been going to have theirs in the kitchen with Rusty to leave Maman in peace, but it appeared she wanted their company. Suzanne’s heart fell. Perhaps her mother was going to say it was time for Rusty to go. Ronnie would be heartbroken.

When the three of them were sipping their tea, Maman broke the silence. She looked across at Ronnie.

‘Well, Véronique, did you have an answer to your notices in the post office and the shop about the dog?’

Suzanne could barely look at her sister’s face.

‘No, nothing,’ Ronnie said, her voice anxious. ‘Maman, would you have a look at him? He’s turned into such a lovely dog.’

The clock on the chiffonier ticked loudly in the silence. Suzanne felt her own heart almost stop beating, so goodness knew how Ronnie must be feeling.

‘I do not wish to see him.’

‘Maman, please don’t make me take him—’

‘But I will allow you to keep him as long as he remains under full control and stays in the shed while you are at school.’

Ronnie sprang to her feet, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Oh, Maman, you won’t regret it, I promise. I won’t let him disturb you. He’s been such a good dog, just as though he knows.’ She tried to hug her mother, but Simone brushed it off almost as though she was embarrassed.

‘So long as you do,’ Simone said. ‘Now, I will prepare supper.’

The two girls exchanged horrified looks but before they could stop her, Maman was on her feet and out of the door. She opened the kitchen door and they heard Rusty barking his head off.

Ronnie flew after her.

‘No, no, go down. Sit! Sit!’ Maman’s voice was almost hysterical.

‘Rusty, here boy.’ Ronnie grabbed him by his new collar. ‘This is Maman. You mustn’t jump up. You have to be a good boy and behave because if you do, Maman says you can stay.’

‘I am beginning to regret my decision already,’ Simone said, ‘so please keep him out of my way.’

‘You’ve been awfully quiet lately, Suzy,’ Ronnie remarked when Rusty was safely shut in her bedroom.

‘Have I?’ Suzanne said.

‘You look as though you’re dreaming,’ Ronnie said sharply. ‘Wake up.’

‘Don’t be silly. I am awake. I’m just thinking, that’s all.’

‘What about?’

Suzanne couldn’t answer. Since she’d met James her emotions had been in a turmoil. He was so unlike the kind of men she usually met in her small circle. For one thing, he was much younger than any of the ones in the village orchestra. And he seemed so natural, not putting on any airs and graces, and yet he obviously came from a good family.

She’d taken to Mrs Mortimer right away, and James had turned out to be quite different when he’d dropped the ARP warden patter after the first few minutes of their encounter. Suzanne smiled to herself, and Ronnie immediately pounced and demanded to know the joke.

Two days later Suzanne was up early when the postman knocked on the door.

‘Oh, you’re just the person, Miss Linfoot,’ he said, handing her a buff-coloured envelope. ‘It’s for you. Looks most official.’

She glanced down in surprise. Who was writing to her? It was neatly typed.

‘It’s from London,’ the postman added helpfully.

She smiled and thanked him. She realised now where it was from. Instinct told her to read it in private in her bedroom, the one she used to share with Raine. Oh, how she missed her sister, even though it was lovely to have the room to herself.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she opened the letter carefully with the paperknife her father had given her the Christmas before he died.

29th April, 1943

Dear Miss Linfoot,

As you are probably aware, Mr Rubenstein has highly recommended you for a place at the Royal Academy of Music to study full-time.

We are pleased to invite you to attend for an audition at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, 11th May.

The piano is, we understand, your second instrument, so we would ask you to play three violin pieces of your choice, providing they are different composers, or two violin pieces and one piece of piano music.

If you wish to proceed, please confirm the date, and indicate the pieces of music you wish to play.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely,

Richard Glover (Principal)

Suzanne read the letter once more before folding and tucking it back in the envelope. She sat for a minute completely still.

If we weren’t at war I’d be so excited.

But the niggling feeling that she should be involved in the war effort was growing stronger by the day. Not just ‘should be’ but she wanted to be involved. Wendy had taken the step. The idea of joining ENSA as a violinist in a swing or a jazz band was becoming more and more alluring. She chewed her bottom lip, considering whether she should keep the letter from her mother. She could never make Maman understand. Normally, she would have turned to Raine, but her older sister wasn’t here to ask for advice and Ronnie was too young to give it.

‘Come in, my dear, won’t you?’ Mrs Mortimer said, her face wreathed in smiles as she held the door wide for Suzanne. ‘How lovely to see you again.’

Suzanne followed the matronly figure to the same sitting room as the other night. This time the fire was a little brighter but there was still a chill in the room, although Mrs Mortimer’s warm welcome more than made up for it.

‘The tray’s all laid up so I’ll get the kettle on. Just make yourself at home.’

‘Thank you.’

Suzanne took the same chair as a few nights ago. She glanced to the chair on her left, which James had occupied. She remembered his strong profile, the way his mouth turned up at the corners … She was glad she’d decided to take up Mrs Mortimer’s invitation to come for tea at any time and had telephoned her this morning. It made a nice change, sitting in a comfortable home and being waited on. She refused to admit to herself that by not leaving it any longer there was a chance she might see James as well.

Then she realised Mrs Mortimer was speaking to her from the doorway.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.’ Suzanne turned to her hostess, her cheeks growing warm.

‘One sugar or two?’

‘Just the tip end,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ve cut down from two since it was rationed, but it’s that last little bit that’s somehow the worst.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Mrs Mortimer smiled as she disappeared.

Suzanne got up and wandered around the room. Her eye caught sight of several photographs displayed on top of a walnut chiffonier. She couldn’t help herself. She picked up the one in the centre, which had obviously been given pride of place. It was James in his naval uniform. No doubt Maman was right – he was an officer by the look of the two gold-braid stripes on his sleeve, the top one in a loop, though she wasn’t sure of the naval ranks. A strong face. One who was used to giving orders. But there was no hint of steel in the warm twinkling eyes that smiled back at her from beneath his cap, and there was a lift to the corners of his mouth as though he might break into laughter at any time … She thought she heard noises and hurriedly returned the frame to its position.

There was no further sound so she walked over to the bookshelves, glancing at the titles and authors. Someone obviously loved the classics, especially Shakespeare. It looked as though every play was represented. Charles Dickens also had a prominent place although Great Expectations was the only one she’d read at school. She eased one of Dickens’ other novels off the tightly packed shelf. Standing with the book in her hands she was soon absorbed.

‘Ah, you’ve succumbed to the attractions of our little library.’ Mrs Mortimer came into the room holding a tea tray. ‘Which one’s caught your fancy?’

‘The Pickwick Papers,’ Suzanne said, about to put it back on the shelf. ‘I’ve never read it.’

‘You’re very welcome to borrow it. James won it as a prize at school for being top in English.’ Suzanne loved the note of pride in Mrs Mortimer’s voice. ‘It’s one of Dickens’ most comical novels. I think you’ll enjoy it.’

‘If you’re sure your son won’t mind,’ Suzanne said.

‘He won’t mind a bit,’ Mrs Mortimer said. ‘He’ll be sorry to have missed you. He’s gone to see one of his friends before he goes off again – James, that is.’ Suzanne noticed a shadow pass over Mrs Mortimer’s face until she smiled warmly. ‘Now come and sit down while the tea’s hot. I have a feeling you want to chat something over with me.’

‘How did you guess?’ Suzanne said as she took the cup and saucer from Mrs Mortimer.

‘Put it down to experience,’ Mrs Mortimer chuckled. ‘Now, what’s on your mind?’

It was difficult to know where to start. But once Suzanne plunged in, the words poured out. She told Mrs Mortimer about Raine in the Air Transport Auxiliary delivering aeroplanes all over the country to the boys in combat, although she didn’t go into any details of places or times. Raine had drummed the security risk into her and Ronnie too often.

‘It’s always been my dream to attend a music school in London,’ Suzanne finished, ‘and now I have an opportunity – if I pass the audition, that is – but I’m not sure it’s what I want, after all.’

‘Do you know what might have changed your mind?’

‘Yes,’ Suzanne said without hesitation. ‘It’s the war. I want to do something where I can make a difference. But Maman has paid for my music lessons all this time when she couldn’t really afford it. This is what she’s always wanted for me – war or no war.’

‘The war has changed our outlook as to what’s important,’ Mrs Mortimer said. ‘You’re obviously very talented so your music has taken priority up to now, but maybe that could go on hold for a while – at least until the war’s over.’ She caught Suzanne’s eye. ‘Do you have any idea – some plan – of what you might do instead?’

This was the part Suzanne was most worried about. She just hoped Mrs Mortimer wouldn’t look askance at such an admission. She took a deep breath.

‘I’m seriously thinking of joining an entertainments group,’ she said. To her surprise Mrs Mortimer didn’t look at all shocked.

‘Ah, that’s probably ENSA,’ Mrs Mortimer said immediately. Her eyes were warm with encouragement. ‘But I didn’t realise they sent classical musicians to entertain the troops.’

‘I’d be playing in a jazz band – swing band – that sort of thing,’ Suzanne said feebly. It sounded crazy now she’d actually put it into words. ‘My friend in the village orchestra has already been accepted and has asked me to go with her. She says the boys really cheer up when they hear the music, or any of the variety acts they put on.’

‘And you’re worried what your mother will say – is that it?’

‘Yes,’ Suzanne admitted. ‘I told Maman I would attend the school if I get through the audition, and she was so happy that for the moment I was happy, too. But if I tell her I’ve changed my mind and want to play in a band and travel round the country, she’ll … well, I don’t know what she’ll do.’

‘Suzanne, listen to me.’ Mrs Mortimer put her cup down on the saucer. ‘This is your life, not your mother’s. It’s your mother’s dream for you to go to the music school, but it’s not yours at the moment.’ She emphasised the last three words. ‘You can pick it up later. And if you and the band can bring some reprieve to our fighting lads who are going through hell – make them forget for a while and enjoy it at the same time, as I think you would – then I believe it’s a very worthwhile choice to make.’

‘Do you really?’ Suzanne said, feeling her face glow at the thought.

‘Yes, I do, my dear. I think you’ve already made up your mind to do something more personal to help the war effort and if I’m right, the sooner you tell that charming French mother of yours that you’ve changed your mind about the music school, the better.’ She looked serious for a moment. ‘Just one thing – if you do take this path, make sure you tell her it’s only for the time being so she knows you’re not ignoring her wishes for you to have a musical career – which I think is completely understandable when you’re obviously very talented.’ She paused. ‘I’d want the same for my daughter – if I had one,’ she added wistfully.

‘Thank you, Mrs Mortimer,’ Suzanne said, finishing the last drops of her tea. ‘I’ll certainly consider everything you’ve said.’

The next half an hour passed in pleasant conversation until Suzanne rose.

‘It’s been lovely, Mrs Mortimer,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for listening. It’s helped me to think more clearly.’

‘I’m glad.’ Mrs Mortimer saw Suzanne to the door and kissed her cheek. ‘Come any time you feel like it.’

Chapter Five

Easier said than done, Suzanne thought, as she walked home, the copy of The Pickwick Papers that Mrs Mortimer had put in a brown paper bag safely tucked under her arm. All the while Mrs Mortimer had been speaking so persuasively Suzanne had felt confident she wasn’t throwing away an opportunity that might never come again. But as soon as they’d said goodbye Suzanne’s optimism evaporated. Maman would be terribly upset if she said she wouldn’t be going for any audition after all because she was going to join a light entertainment group to play for an audience of soldiers.

There was no sign of life in the house even though the back door had been left unlocked. She stepped into the kitchen where there was a note on the table in Maman’s flamboyant writing.

Chérie, I have gone to visit Mrs Bond. Please peel the potatoes for supper. Véronique has taken that dog for a walk.

Maman

Suzanne grimaced. Maman refused to use Rusty’s name or even acknowledge him properly, but at least she’d allowed him to stay so long as he remained out of her sight. It was a great pity as he was such a loving animal.

Suzanne hummed to herself as she peeled the potatoes. There was a tune running in her head that she’d heard The Andrews Sisters sing on the wireless last night. Their happy voices and the beat were so infectious that she couldn’t let go the tune. Knowing there was no one around she burst into song, her shoulders keeping time as she dropped the chunks of potato into a saucepan of cold water.

‘Pardon me, boys, is that the Chattanooga choo choo?

Right on track twenty-nine …’

She grinned. No, that last line wasn’t quite right. But it went something like that. She laid out the cutlery on a tray, the salt and pepper, and a butter dish of part butter but mostly margarine she’d mixed together, not that the result would fool anyone. She took the tray to the dining room and set it on the table, all the while singing. Grabbing hold of a bottle of salad cream she held it up to her mouth like a microphone, her body swaying to the rhythm.

‘… dinner in the diner, nothing could be finer

Dum de dum de dum Carolina …’

‘Suzy!’

Abruptly, Suzanne stopped, the salad cream bottle still held in microphone position, as Ronnie’s head appeared round the door, her eyes wide.

‘What’s going on?’ Ronnie demanded.

‘I got carried away,’ Suzanne said, a little pink. ‘I can’t get that song out of my head.’ She laughed. ‘Did I frighten you?’

Ronnie came in. ‘No, not in the least. Actually, you sounded really professional – just like those singers on the wireless.’

‘Thank you, little sister, for such a compliment,’ Suzanne said, as she smoothed a tablecloth on the dining table and set out the knives and forks.

‘Has Maman heard you?’ Ronnie asked curiously.

‘What has Maman heard – or not heard?’

Two pairs of eyes flew to the doorway where Maman stood, immaculate as always, even though she’d only popped over to see one of the neighbours. Instantly, Suzanne’s flushed cheeks deepened a further shade.

‘You look as though you’re ashamed of something, Suzanne,’ Maman said, stepping into the room. ‘Or hiding something. Which is it to be?’

‘Ronnie’s just being an annoying baby sister,’ Suzanne said in a tight voice. This was not the right moment to tell her mother about not going to London after all.

‘She could easily go on the stage like Sally Rivers,’ Ronnie persisted. ‘Only Suzy has a better voice.’

‘What are you talking about, Véronique?’ Maman said, sitting on one of the upright chairs and not taking her eyes off her youngest daughter.

‘Suzy. I caught her singing away, pretending she had a microphone, only it was a bottle of Heinz Salad Cream,’ Ronnie said, giggling and nodding towards the bottle, now standing innocently in the middle of the dining table.

‘What is this nonsense, Suzanne?’ Maman demanded.

‘She’s just trying to irritate me,’ Suzanne said, determined not to be drawn in. Why did Maman never leave anything alone, once she’d got her teeth in it? She tried to change the subject. ‘Ronnie, why don’t you give Rusty his dinner?’

Ronnie looked as though she wanted to stay and hear what they were going to discuss, but Suzanne threw her such a warning look, her sister scurried off, giving her a backward grin as she pulled the door shut behind her.

‘Have you done your practice today, Suzanne?’ Maman said.

‘Er – no, not exactly.’

‘What do you mean? It is either exact or it is not. What have you then been doing this morning besides the ironing I left you?’

Suzanne gave a start. In her hurry to talk to Mrs Mortimer she’d forgotten completely about the ironing.

‘Or have you not found the time to do it?’

‘I’m sorry, Maman. I’ll do it this afternoon.’

‘That is when you must practise your pieces for the music school,’ Maman said, her lips tightening. Then her face relaxed into a smile. ‘Ah, oui. Je comprends. You wish to discuss the pieces you have chosen for the audition. And you are still not sure if you have made the right choices. But do not worry, chérie. We will make the final decisions together.’

Suzanne briefly closed her eyes in resignation. Once again Maman had got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Or was it on purpose? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to wait until after supper so they could all eat in peace without a row hanging over them. She immediately reprimanded herself for being such a coward. But the moment had gone.

‘Let’s have supper first,’ she said mildly. ‘I’ve done the potatoes but what are we having with them?’

‘You can heat a tin of peas,’ Maman said. ‘The butcher kept me some sausages I will fry.’ She pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘Although they are not the same as the delicious French saucisson …’ She touched her fingers to her lips and blew out a kiss.

At that moment Rusty leapt into the room with Ronnie flying after him.

‘Get that dog out of here.’ Maman lifted her heels a few inches off the floor.

‘Rusty, be a good boy. Come here.’

Rusty halted and turned his head towards his new mistress. He stood still and let Ronnie put his lead back on.

‘There,’ Ronnie said triumphantly. ‘See how obedient he is.’

‘Hmm,’ their mother said, obviously not daring to put her feet back on the floor, in spite of Rusty wagging his tail and looking up at her with a beseeching expression.

‘Let him stay a few minutes, Maman,’ Ronnie said. ‘You’ll never get used to him if you never allow him in.’

‘I do not want to get used to him,’ Simone said firmly, but at least she lowered her feet to the floor. She caught Suzanne’s eye. ‘And after supper, Suzanne, we will have the happy discussion for your beautiful classical pieces. If you want my opinion—’

‘Maman, later.’

‘D’accord, chérie. We eat first. And after we talk you will go upstairs to practise for the audition. That is very important. You must give a perfect rendition.’

Maman had fried the sausages in too much lard. After only one mouthful Suzanne thought she would choke on it. Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl she surreptitiously took her handkerchief out of her pocket and wrapped it up. Rusty would love it for a treat later.

‘The sausage was even worse than I suspected,’ Maman said after she’d chased a few peas around her plate and tried a little mashed potato.

‘It was nice,’ Ronnie said smiling at her mother and putting her knife and fork together on her empty plate.

Dear Ronnie. She’d eat anything that was put in front of her.

‘If we were in France,’ Maman began, ‘we would finish our meal with a beautiful coffee.’

Suzanne managed to stop her eyes from rolling up to the ceiling. Have you noticed, Maman, she wanted to scream, we’re not in France? And thank goodness. You’ve said it yourself many times that since the occupation, France is no longer France. France is now Germany. French people are desperately trying to escape from their own country.

‘Véronique, please clear the table. You may start to wash up. As soon as your sister goes to her practice I will come and help you – so long as the dog is not there.’ She looked at Suzanne. ‘Come, chérie, we will go in the front room and be peaceful.’

Suzanne followed her mother into the front room. If only Dad was here. He would have stuck up for her, she was sure. But it was no good dwelling on it. She’d have to face Maman and get it over with.

‘Sit with me, chérie.’ Simone patted the space next to her on the sofa. ‘Now tell me the pieces and I will give my opinion.’

Suzanne drew in a deep breath.

‘Maman, I’m not absolutely sure—’

‘No, of course you’re not,’ Simone interrupted. ‘It is too important to make any hasty decisions. The pieces must be complicated so they know you are capable, but not so much that you do not perform them correctly.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Suzanne tried again. ‘I’m having serious doubts about going there in the first place.’

There. She’d said it. She sneaked a look at her mother’s face. Maman’s expression was frozen. There was not a flicker of life. Until Suzanne saw the glint of anger burning in her mother’s eyes.

‘What are you saying, child? Of course you are going. We are talking about the audition pieces, are we not?’

‘No, Maman. I want to have a serious talk about now … with the war on.’

Simone frowned. ‘You cannot change the war.’

‘I know I can’t. But I’ve been talking to Wendy … you remember … she’s another violinist in our orchestra. She said she’s going to join an entertainments group, and I’d like to find out more about it. Which means that I don’t want to do any audition at the moment as it could be wasting their time.’ She paused, remembering Mrs Mortimer’s warning. ‘It’s only for the time being. I’ll apply to the music school when the war’s over and I’ve done my bit.’

Simone’s delicate features hardened. ‘The war does not show a sign it is coming to the end. Maybe another year, maybe two, maybe longer. By that time you will have lost your chance. I will not let that happen. Your father would be very angry with me if I did. It is your future I am talking about. And your future is your beautiful music. You have a wonderful talent and I will not allow you to throw away your career because you want to do the same as your foolish friend.’

‘Wendy’s not foolish,’ Suzanne protested. ‘She’s—’

‘I will hear nothing more. You must now go and do your practice. I have the ’eadache and will go to bed for an hour. Then you may bring me some tea.’

Suzanne looked after her mother’s retreating back. Why wouldn’t Maman just listen for once to what she had to say? She blew her cheeks out. She was sure now that her mother suspected she’d already made up her mind not to attend the audition, but that if she refused to stop and hear those words from her daughter, Suzanne would eventually comply.

Chapter Six

May 1943

‘Raine! What a wonderful surprise. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ Suzanne said, her face lighting up as soon as she set eyes on her older sister the following Monday morning. Raine’s timing couldn’t have been better.

‘It was all last minute,’ Raine said, hugging her back and planting a kiss on her cheek, ‘and I’d rather hear all the news in person.’

Somehow Raine always made everything seem right. Suzanne watched as her sister shrugged off her coat and hung it in the hall, then popped her forage cap on the hook above.

‘Just look at you,’ Suzanne said, admiringly. ‘You look so smart in your uniform … and the gold wings you’ve worked so hard for.’

‘Yes, although I’m much more comfortable in trousers, but we’re not allowed to wear them off duty. Thank goodness we can in the cockpit. You didn’t used to be able to. I think the men wanted to admire our legs.’ Raine gave a short laugh. ‘I must say, wearing a skirt feels quite dressy these days.’

Suzanne thought it must be wonderful to have such a sense of belonging in such a worthwhile organisation. Raine oozed confidence and positively glowed. She pulled the elastic from her dark wavy hair and let it fall to her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get home for Easter, or your concert.’ She flung the words over her shoulder. ‘But we’ve been rushing all over the place.’

‘Don’t worry. I know you would if you could.’

‘Did it go well? Did Ronnie enjoy it? I know she’s not that keen on your kind of music.’

‘She wasn’t there,’ Suzanne said, ushering her sister into the front room. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and tell you all about it.’

‘What’s that noise?’ Raine tilted her head to the ceiling. ‘It sounds like a dog. Is it next door’s?’

‘Yes, it’s a dog, and no, it’s not next door’s,’ Suzanne grinned.

Raine’s jaw dropped. ‘Don’t tell me Maman’s relented at last and let Ronnie have one.’

‘Not quite relented,’ Suzanne said. ‘Rusty’s permanently on borrowed time. He has to live in Ronnie’s bedroom when she’s home or the shed when she’s at school.’

‘Ah, I thought Maman’s change of heart was too good to be true,’ Raine said, chuckling. ‘Maybe she’ll get used to him and give him a reprieve.’ She made towards the door. ‘I’d better go and say hello to her and then I’ll go and see Ronnie and meet Rusty while you’re making the tea.’

Ten minutes later the three sisters and Rusty were in the dining room, Rusty mad with excitement that another sister seemed to want to be his friend.

‘You’ve only one more person to conquer, Rusty,’ Raine said, fondling his ears. ‘But it may be your most difficult challenge yet.’ Rusty stuck his wet nose in her hand and wagged his tail. ‘He’s very thin,’ Raine commented, giving him a gentle pat on his head.

Rusty gave a little whine of pleasure.

‘You should have seen him when I found him,’ Ronnie said. ‘He was starving. You could see his ribs through his coat.’

‘I’m really pleased you have him,’ Raine said. ‘And Maman will come round eventually.’

‘What must I come round to?’ Maman stood at the doorway, then saw Rusty and backed off. ‘Véronique, I told you that dog is not to be in the house except for your room.’

‘Raine wanted to meet him,’ Ronnie protested. ‘And he wanted a change. It’s awful how his life is nearly all in my room or the shed.’

‘They are the conditions,’ Maman said. ‘If you do not like them then you must get rid of him.’ Her eyes caught sight of Raine. ‘So Lorraine, you have come to see your mother at last.’

‘Hello, Maman,’ Raine said, getting up and kissing her mother’s cheek. ‘Sorry I couldn’t let you know, but I’m only here for one night. I have to leave first thing in the morning.’

‘Then we must make the most of it,’ Maman said. ‘And it must start with that dog—’

‘Maman, please don’t keep calling Rusty “that dog”,’ Ronnie said. ‘He hates it. You know his name.’

‘I do not know anything of the kind,’ Maman said. ‘But I know I will not rest until he is out of this room and I can enjoy my cup of tea. I do not think it is too much to ask.’

‘I’ll take him for a walk,’ Ronnie said. ‘If anyone wants to go with me, they can.’

‘I’ll stay with Maman as I’ve only just arrived,’ Raine said. ‘You go with her, Suzy.’

‘You may all go and leave me in peace,’ Maman said firmly. ‘Doris Strong left me The Lady last week and I have been too busy to read it. I will be happy on my own with a cup of tea and the magazine.’

‘Can’t you join a proper orchestra with this ENSA?’ Raine said. ‘Then at least Maman won’t be able to moan about the waste of lessons.’

The two of them were sitting in Suzanne’s bedroom chatting, just like they did before Raine left home to join the ATA.

‘It doesn’t appeal to me as much as being part of a jazz band,’ Suzanne said, surprised that it was true. ‘And on Pathé News when you see the soldiers having a dance with the girls, the music’s always jazz and swing. Besides, I’m ready for a change.’ She looked at her older sister. ‘I told Maman I’d go back to classical but she won’t have it. She says I’ll have thrown away my chance of a musical career. But this war has changed everything. Things that were so important to me aren’t so much any more. I want the challenge of learning something completely new and I think the soldiers will respond to jazz more.’ She looked at her sister and laughed. ‘Listen to me, rambling on.’

Raine smiled. ‘You know, Suzy, I think it might be absolutely right for you. You do tend to be a bit serious with all this classical stuff, beautiful though it is, and I do genuinely enjoy it. But I can see what you mean from the soldiers’ point of view.’ She paused, frowning slightly. ‘There’s only one thing I can see against it and that’s Ronnie. If you’d gone to the music school you’d have come home every day and been a support for her, but who knows where you might end up with ENSA. As far as I know, you can be sent all over the place – all over the world, in fact.’

‘I’ve thought of that,’ Suzanne said. ‘Ronnie’s one of the reasons why I stupidly told Maman I would go and do the audition.’

‘And Maman was the other,’ Raine said immediately. ‘Have you talked to Ronnie about it?’

Suzanne shook her head. ‘No, but I will before I make a definite decision.’

‘I think you’ve made up your mind,’ Raine said, ‘and Ronnie will tell you to go ahead with your plan. She’s such an independent creature. She’d be furious if she thought you were staying behind for her.’

‘I know,’ Suzanne said. ‘But I do feel guilty. She’s only sixteen. A child still. And Maman can be very difficult sometimes.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Raine said grimly. ‘Do you want me to speak to Ronnie?’

‘No,’ Suzanne said. ‘This has to be between her and me.’

‘Don’t forget that Maman could easily use Ronnie as a weapon against you joining ENSA to make you feel guilty, when really it’s her who wants to keep you by her side. Like she did with me.’

‘I know,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ve thought about the way she treated you. But you were completely focused. I wish I had your strength of mind.’

Raine gazed at her. ‘You’ve got more strength of mind than Ronnie and me put together,’ she said. ‘You just haven’t had the opportunity yet to prove it.’ She paused. ‘You know, Suzy, there’s something different about you and I’m not sure it’s just this change of heart about the music school. Do I detect an extra sparkle in your eye?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Suzanne gave a short laugh. ‘It’s still the same old routine here – well, except for Rusty making his appearance.’

‘No, it’s not Rusty.’ Raine gave her sister a mischievous wink. ‘I think you’ve met someone.’

Immediately Suzanne tensed. She’d made up her mind not to discuss James. It was only an accidental meeting. He’d made no suggestion of—

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Raine demanded. ‘There’s no point in denying it, Suzy, because you’re blushing.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly call it meeting someone,’ Suzanne said, smiling now. Raine could read her like a book. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to tell her sister about the fall and James coming to the rescue. At least it was something new to say. And she could always put the attention onto his mother.

‘James and his mother sound lovely,’ Raine said when Suzanne had related her story. ‘So when do you think you’ll see him again?’

‘I probably never will,’ Suzanne said. ‘Unless I bump into him. He’s in the Navy so I imagine he’s away a lot.’

‘That shouldn’t present a huge problem,’ Raine said. ‘They do get time off. And he was on leave when you met him.’

‘I actually went to see his mother yesterday,’ Suzanne said. ‘She invited me to go round for a cup of tea any time I liked so I thought I’d take her up on it.’ She hesitated, not wanting to hurt Raine’s feelings. ‘We did chat about ENSA – she’d heard of it – and she understood my problem about the music school and Maman. She didn’t try to persuade me, or anything, but she helped me to see that if I decided to go ahead, she thought I’d be doing something worthwhile and that I could go back to my music later.’ When Raine didn’t answer, she said, ‘I would have discussed it with you if you’d been here, Raine. But as you weren’t, Mrs Mortimer was the only other person I trusted to have a sensible opinion.’

Raine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Or was it that you thought you might have another stroke of luck and run into the rather good-looking son – I believe that’s how you described him?’

‘Did I say that?’ Suzanne felt the warmth rush to her cheeks.

‘Yes, you did,’ Raine said firmly. ‘And you also implied I was sensible – not something I hear that often.’ She grinned. ‘But you were saying …?’

‘I think that’s about all. Oh, and she knows Maman. They’re in the same knitting group.’

‘Perfect,’ Raine chuckled. ‘Our dear mother will be delighted. A nice steady man in the Navy from what sounds like the sort of family she’d approve of.’

‘Raine, please stop rushing ahead. You’re sounding as bad as Maman. She’s already warned me not to fall in love with him. Do you know, she had us married and me sitting all alone waiting for his ship to come in.’

Raine laughed. ‘That’s Maman.’

‘And talking of approval – she doesn’t approve of Mrs Mortimer all that much. She says she dominates the knitting group. I had to smile. If anyone dominates the conversation, it’s Maman.’

Raine laughed. ‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

‘Raine, I’m telling you – James and I only met once and started off on the wrong foot. I think he likes me well enough, as I do him, but there’s no hint it could develop into anything remotely along the lines you’re talking about.’

‘Hmm. We’ll see what fate has to say about it,’ was all her sister said.

Chapter Seven

Suzanne lay in bed that night thinking that talking about James Mortimer to Raine had stirred up that same strange flutter. She remembered the pressure of his hand when he’d said goodnight. She shrugged. Raine had simply been teasing her when she’d insinuated that fate would decide.

She opened the book – James’s book – by her bed, thinking she would begin reading it tonight. When she’d flicked through it at Mrs Mortimer’s yesterday she hadn’t noticed the inscription on the frontispiece in bold handwriting:

James Mortimer, aged 12, Class 2A.

Prize for top in English Literature.

Randolph Sweet (Headmaster)

Suzanne smiled, picturing James at that age. He’d be a dark-haired lad, tall for his age, with laughing eyes, wearing a cap and a cheeky grin. She wondered if he’d read the book. She gently ruffled the pages and scrutinised several of them minutely, but she couldn’t tell. He either hadn’t read it or he’d been very careful to keep it in such pristine condition. She opened the cover at the very end. There, on one of the blank endpapers, written in pencil, she read: This one is my favourite by CD. I particularly like the characters. Their names fit their personalities and both things made me laugh. James Mortimer, 10th November 1931.

She smiled and turned again to Chapter One, and even though she could hear Maman and Raine’s murmurs downstairs, this time she was able to read and become absorbed until her eyelids drooped.

Raine had already left to catch an early train by the time the postman arrived. Suzanne was making herself a cup of tea but rushed to the door when she heard the letterbox rattle. She bent to pick up the letters. Two for Maman, looking like bills, and one for Raine, which she would forward on, and one for herself in beautiful italic writing. It was postmarked Bromley.

Curiously she slit open the cream envelope and pulled out a cream-coloured sheet of Basildon Bond notepaper. Her eyes scanned down to the signature: Beatrice Mortimer. How strange.

Dear Suzanne,

I did enjoy our chat and I was wondering if you would like to come to an afternoon tea this coming Saturday at 4 p.m. It’s James’s birthday (the 8th). He’s made it quite clear, though, that he doesn’t want any present from me this year while the war’s going on so please don’t bring anything. But I know he’d be delighted to see you, although this little ‘do’ is meant to be a surprise.

Don’t worry about letting me know – just come at any time if you can. James has to go back to his ship on Monday morning early.

I look forward to seeing you again.

Sincerely,

Beatrice Mortimer

P.S. I also look forward to hearing about your decision!

Suzanne skimmed the letter again, biting her lip. She wished now she’d mentioned she’d been to see Mrs Mortimer again. As it was, she’d have to confess to Maman if she decided to go – unless she went without telling her. But she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t in the habit of doing things behind her mother’s back, but the worry was that Maman would insist upon going with her so she could control what Mrs Mortimer might have to say. After all, her mother knew Mrs Mortimer from the knitting class. Oh, why did life have to be so complicated?

She’d go right now and tell Maman she was going to a birthday afternoon tea on Saturday for Mrs Mortimer’s son, James. And that she’d definitely made up her mind to join ENSA. Get it all over in one go.

‘Was that the postman, chérie?’ Simone called out from the dining room.

‘Yes, Maman,’ Suzanne answered, resolutely raising her chin. ‘I’m just coming.’ She took her cup of tea into the room where her mother sat eating a piece of toast and sliver of cheese at the table.

‘Is there something for me?’ her mother asked.

‘Yes, but nothing terribly exciting, I don’t think.’ Suzanne handed her the envelopes and sat down opposite.

Her mother looked at one, then the other, and tossed them unopened onto the table. She gazed at her daughter. ‘You are looking a little pink, Suzanne. What has happened?’

‘I’ve had a letter from Mrs Mortimer.’

Simone’s mouth fell open. ‘Beatrice Mortimer? Why is she writing to you?’

‘It’s an invitation to have afternoon tea with her – she’s doing a birthday tea for her son.’

Simone’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would she do that? You’ve only met her once. Who else is invited?’

‘I think she’s inviting a couple of his friends as well,’ Suzanne said, ignoring Maman’s first question.

‘I see.’ Maman pressed her lips together as if she didn’t see at all. ‘You are hiding something from me,’ she said eventually. Suzanne’s heart sank. ‘I would like to see this letter, chérie. You will show it to me.’

‘I have it in my pocket.’ Suzanne pulled out the folded paper. ‘I’ll read it to you.’

‘Non, I wish to read it myself.’ She held out her hand.

Suzanne passed it over. If it confirmed to Maman that it was all above board, then that was just as well. Too late she remembered Mrs Mortimer’s postscript. She held her breath as Maman read the letter, her expression hardening. Suzanne swallowed.

‘What does this mean at the bottom?’ Her mother tapped the offending letter with her manicured nails.

‘Maman, this time you must listen to me. I want to join that entertainments group I told you about. They go round the various stations where the troops are – our soldiers fighting for King and country – who desperately need cheering up,’ she gabbled.

Simone threw her hands in the air.

‘I cannot believe you are saying these things. I am sorry, Suzanne, but I will not allow you to waste your life. And if your father was alive he would agree with me. No, you will not go. You will accept the audition date. If you do not, I will write to the person myself to say you will be attending.’

‘Maman,’ Suzanne said as gently as she could, ‘you want this for me, and I love you for it. I wanted it, too—’

‘Then what is changed?’ Maman demanded.

‘The war! It’s changed everything. Oh, Maman.’ Suzanne tried to take her mother’s hand in hers. ‘Don’t you see? I’m not a child any longer, even though you still call me one, and I want to help in the war effort.’

‘And you will be helping,’ her mother said, gripping Suzanne’s arm and fixing her eyes on her. ‘You will be playing beautiful music for people to hear. It is as important to keep up the spirit of people here at home in these terrible times. We all need food. But the soul also must be fed. And you will do that with your music.’

‘But if I was accepted I’d have to stay for several years,’ Suzanne protested.

‘Absolument.’

‘The war will be over by then. I want to do my bit now. Play to ordinary soldiers who are on the battlefields fighting for us – risking their lives every day. I want them to have some fun.’

‘Classical music is not for fun,’ Maman said huffily. ‘It is music for the soul. For here. Deep inside.’ She pressed somewhere near her heart.

‘Exactly my point. Maman, I’d be in a swing band where I can still play my violin, but to a different beat. I want to entertain people who know the kind of music they like. I want to help them forget for a few hours the hell they’re going through.’ She looked at her mother, desperate for her to understand. ‘Is that really so bad?’

‘You are wasting your talent, Suzanne, after all the music lessons I have provided—’

‘Maman.’ Suzanne had to force herself to keep calm. ‘You know how grateful I am. But you’re insinuating that the musicians in bands aren’t talented.’ When her mother opened her mouth to argue, Suzanne quickly added, ‘But of course they are. The jazz and swing bands here and in America are wonderful. They bring the people together to show Hitler we haven’t lost our spirit and will go on fighting until we win. The music gets them on the floor dancing and laughing. And I wouldn’t be accepted in any band if they didn’t think I had any talent.’

She looked anxiously at her mother who sat in silence. After a minute her mother spoke in an even tone.

‘I always thought you were very different from Lorraine. More loving. More understanding and would listen to your maman. Not headstrong, like she so often is. But I am wrong.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘It is a great pity you have inherited such an unattractive trait.’

Suzanne looked her mother directly in the eye. ‘What are you saying, Maman? You can’t inherit a trait, good or bad, from a sister … even if she is older,’ she added with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

Her mother clamped her mouth shut. She gazed at Suzanne and shook her head. ‘I am disappointed, that is all.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I will leave you to think what you are doing to me, your maman. And I will tell you one thing – I do not approve of this … what they call swing music, and this – this jitterbug from America …’ She practically spat the words out. ‘And I will not have my daughter in any part of it.’ She peered at the letter again, then at Suzanne. ‘What I do not understand is why Mrs Mortimer is involved in this change of mind.’ Her voice was ice.

‘Maman, please give me a little credit. I’ll make up my own mind. Mrs Mortimer has nothing—’

‘Stop!’ Simone raised her hand. ‘You have spoken to Beatrice Mortimer behind my back. You have asked her opinion and she has told you to go with this entertaining group. Nom de Dieu! How dare you do this to your mother. And listen to a stranger. She will hear from me.’

She swept out of the room.

Suzanne sat in stunned silence. She’d known her mother wouldn’t at first approve, but she’d hoped that after Maman had had time to let it sink in, she would see that it was important for her to do something towards the war effort. But she realised with thumping heart she’d completely misjudged her mother. And Raine would have been the first to point out the power of Maman over them all.

She blinked back the tears as she cleared her mother’s dishes, then poured the untouched cup of tea down the sink. Whatever Maman threatened, Suzanne vowed she would not allow her to take control of her life. She would not.

Chapter Eight

‘You could be conscripted any time,’ Ronnie said, when Suzanne related the scene with Maman that afternoon when they were taking Rusty for a walk. They’d got into the habit during the Easter holiday and Suzanne enjoyed chatting with her young sister who sometimes surprised her with her wisdom. ‘And they could send you anywhere. You won’t have any choice. Maman will be on her own one day, so you’ll have to be cruel to be kind. At least when it’s my turn she’ll be used to two daughters leaving home, which will pave the way for me,’ Ronnie giggled, handing the lead over to Suzanne.

‘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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