Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © HarperCollins 2018

Cover photography © Head Design / Shutterstock 2018

Cover design © Head Design 2018

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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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: 9780008239008

Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008239015

Version: 2019-03-01

Dedication

For the original Lana Ashwin, a glamorous dark-haired actress and one of my mother’s close friends who rented a flat in the same building in Kensington. She and her husband, actor Michael Ashwin, endured the London Blitz along with Mum and Dad.

To all Dr Barnardo’s children during the Second World War who were the inspiration for this series.

Lastly, to all the animals who were used in the war – they had no choice. If you haven’t been, do go and see the monument, Animals in War, on the edge of Hyde Park, London. It’s a powerful and moving tribute to the thousands of animals who suffered and died in service.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Before …

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

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Keep Reading …

Also by Molly Green

About the Publisher

Before …
Mellanby, North Yorkshire

Lana read Dickie’s letter for the umpteenth time. It was dated 23rd August 1941.

My darling dearest girl,

I hated leaving you for yet another tour but I’ll be home before you know it. I can’t wait to see your lovely face again, to bury myself in that wonderful hair of yours, but all I have at the moment is your photograph. I’m gazing at it now as I write this.

I miss you so much, Lana. When I get my next shore leave we’ll go on long walks, hand in hand.

Keep safe for me, darling. I long to hold you in my arms again. I love knowing my grandmother’s ring is nestling between your breasts, but it’s hidden, and I want to put it on your finger to let the whole world know we’re engaged to be married – the sooner the better. I know you prefer to wait so we can tell your parents together, but it’s so frustrating with this damned war.

Give my love to them, and if you get time, I know mine would love you to call in at number 10. You’re always welcome – you know that. If you let them know ahead, Mum will make your favourite liver & bacon dish.

Will close now and try to get a couple of hours’ kip before the next shift. Will write again soon.

I love you so much.

Dickie xxx

Lana blinked back the tears. Her dearest love. He’d worked in their special code – created by them because of the severe censoring of all letters between members of the armed forces and their parents, wives and girlfriends. She loathed liver, but it meant he’d be docking at Liverpool, and his parents’ address at number 10 meant he’d be home in the tenth month – October. She couldn’t help smiling as his parents’ number had changed more than once to suit his homecoming date.

Her hand automatically touched the ring – Dickie’s ring that she’d put on a fine gold chain and worn around her neck ever since he proposed to her on her birthday, 6th August. Today was 4th October, the month he said he’d be home. As usual, the letter had taken several weeks to arrive. This was October, yes, but the year was now 1942. Fourteen months since his proposal, she calculated, and the diamond and ruby ring was still around her neck.

Chapter One
February 1943

‘Is there something wrong, dear?’ her mother said, her voice anxious.

‘The ATS won’t accept me for driving,’ Lana said dully, as she slid the sheet of paper back into the envelope.

Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘Why not? An intelligent young woman – healthy—’

‘Seems I’m not.’

‘What—?’

‘They say I’ve got flat feet. I’d never be able to march. They might be able to find me a job in an office as a civilian – well, they can forget that.’ She rounded on her mother, the gold in her hazel eyes flashing. ‘The woman who interviewed me more or less said they’d welcome me with open arms as an experienced driver. Some welcome.’

‘Well, at least you haven’t got anything serious,’ her mother said calmly. ‘You had me worried for a moment.’

‘You don’t understand, Mum. Joining up was going to change my life. Pay back those bloody Germans for killing Dickie.’ She absentmindedly fiddled with her engagement ring, now on the third finger of her left hand.

‘Don’t swear, dear,’ her mother said mildly. ‘I know how you must feel but if I may say so … and don’t get cross with me, but that isn’t quite the right spirit. You want revenge for Dickie’s death but that’s going to keep you bitter. Not all Germans are Nazis. I’m sure many of them don’t want to fight any more than our boys. I do understand your feelings but—’

‘I’m sorry, Mum, but you don’t understand at all,’ Lana said, her voice rising as she sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll never forgive them – never!’

Knowing she was behaving badly but not being able to stop herself, she rushed from the room.

‘You shouldn’t take it personally, Lana,’ her father said when she’d calmed down a little and stepped into her parents’ grocery shop a quarter of an hour later. ‘They haven’t rejected you – it’s just one of those things.’

It was pointless to argue with her father. She knew he was right anyway. But it didn’t make it any less hurtful.

‘Your mother and I have been talking. The last thing we want is to keep you at home now Mum’s getting better. Working in the shop is not for you – it would be a waste of all your training. Now Marjorie has left to join up, I’ve put an advertisement in the paper for a replacement assistant.’ He glanced at her, and she saw the love and concern reflected in his eyes. ‘You have to decide now what you want to do. Personally, I think you should go back to teaching. Your mum says the same.’

‘You sound like Dickie,’ Lana said, more than a little annoyed.

‘I’m not surprised. Dickie was right. We all know how the children loved you. I reckon they thought you were a little eccentric – different from any of their other teachers – but that was why they adored you.’ His eyes twinkled with humour and she couldn’t help giving him a small smile in return. ‘I think that’s where you’re needed. Not fighting Jerry.’

She couldn’t think of a reply so she busied herself undoing a box of tinned sardines that had just been delivered.

‘Any eggs this week?’ she asked, more for something to say, as there wasn’t much hope of any.

‘We’re expecting our allowance tomorrow,’ her father said.

‘Well, at least that will stop Mrs Mason from her perpetual moaning.’

Her parents’ words tumbled over in her mind the rest of the morning. Maybe they were right. Maybe her strength lay in teaching. And if she was honest she’d missed it terribly these last few months when she’d come home to look after her mother. A severe case of influenza had turned into pneumonia. Lana closed her eyes for a moment. It had been touch and go. At one stage she’d thought she was going to lose her mother as well as her fiancé. Now her mother was finally regaining her strength, Lana had some thinking to do. She was uncertain as to whether the headmaster would give her back her old job, even though they knew her slightly unconventional ways and couldn’t deny how much the children responded to her.

She remembered standing in the headmaster’s office when she’d asked him if he could hold her position by having a temporary teacher for the time it took her mother to recover. He couldn’t guarantee it, he’d said. It depended upon who came in her place. What their situation might be. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. At that moment in his office she’d made up her mind never to go back to that school, whatever the circumstances.

‘Even if he offered it to me it would be going backwards,’ she said aloud as she checked the list of items they were waiting to be delivered. She’d always taken pride in trying something new if things didn’t turn out as expected or if she was unhappy. Begging for her old job would be admitting failure.

When Marjorie Drake had suddenly announced to Lana’s father that she was joining the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force and would be leaving in a week’s time, Lana had felt a spurt of envy. She’d decided then and there to join the Auxiliary Territorial Service. To fight Jerry. For Dickie’s sake. But now that had been cut from under her.

‘The library was shut today,’ Lana grumbled to her father after supper a few days later when her mother had retired early. ‘Staff shortage, I suppose. It’s so annoying. I’ve finished my book and I’ve got nothing else to read.’

‘Try these.’ Her father put down his newspaper and tossed a couple of magazines over to her. ‘Mrs Randall-Smith dropped them in this afternoon when she came to see your mother. You might find something of interest.’

They were sitting in opposite easy chairs in the parlour, which they used more these days since her mother had been ill. Lana had lit a fire but the room was still chilly even though the ugly blackout curtains were disguised by a second thick pair of richly flowered ones. Lana shivered. All the curtains did was give the impression the room was cosier than it felt.

Lana flipped through one of The Lady magazines her mother’s friend had left, then looked up. ‘No response yet for an assistant?’

‘Not yet. Everyone seems to have joined up.’ He looked suddenly contrite. ‘Sorry, love. That was a bit tactless of me.’

Lana gave a rueful smile. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m all growed up now.’

Her father’s face broke into a grin. ‘You certainly are, Topsy. I’m hoping it won’t be long before we have some replies – then you’ll be free to continue your own life.’

It was her father’s old nickname for her when she was still a child. Impulsively, she sprang to her feet and kissed her father’s cheek. ‘You’re the best father in the world,’ she said, ‘but you’re encouraging me to be the most selfish daughter.’

‘Not at all,’ he said, giving her an affectionate kiss back. ‘You haven’t had an easy time with this war and—’

‘No different from thousands of others,’ Lana interrupted, her expression grim. ‘I so badly want to get back at the Germans for what they took away from me, Dad, but Mum thinks I’ll end up a bitter and twisted old maid.’

‘Did she actually say that?’ Her father looked at her in surprise. ‘Doesn’t sound like your mother.’

‘Not exactly those words but that’s what she meant,’ Lana grimaced. She went back to her chair and picked up the magazine again, but she couldn’t concentrate. She sat thinking while her father quietly read his paper, until he folded it and yawned.

‘I think I’ll turn in,’ he announced.

He’d been a handsome man, she thought, as she watched him struggle to his feet, but the strain of another war – the first one where he’d lost a brother, and now two sons away at sea – had begun to tell on his features. His mouth had lost some of its fullness and his cheeks were a little sunken, but his eyes still held their teasing sparkle. A lump came to her throat.

‘G’night, love.’

‘Night, Dad. Sleep tight.’

‘And don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he finished, smiling.

It was how they’d always finished saying goodnight when she was a little girl.

She grinned back.

In bed, she opened the magazine and read a couple of articles, wrinkling her nose at the ‘Let’s Make Do & Mend’ article. If this war went on much longer she’d need to improve what little sewing skills she had. Idly, she turned to the ‘Situations Vacant’ pages and her eye roved down the columns. Her attention was caught by one, enclosed in a box.

Urgently seeking temporary headmistress for village school in Bingham, nr Liverpool. Must be an experienced teacher and willing to supervise small team while headmaster is abroad fighting. Pls reply to Mr G. Shepherd, Box 3032 at The Lady.

Lana’s heart turned over. Dickie’s home port had been Liverpool. She’d been there once to see him off and had been horrified at the devastation in the city. It had looked every bit as bad as London, having only just suffered its own blitz. Beautiful buildings turned into heaps of rubble and debris, people picking their way through it, children playing games amongst it, and what had been people’s pets looking dazed by the way their world had changed in an instant, ribs sticking through their unkempt coats, foraging for scraps.

Lana shuddered, remembering how every bombed building, every church destroyed, every ship struck, had all brought home to her the danger Dickie faced every day. She’d caught the train home on the same day, not only sad at parting from Dickie but also frightened on his behalf, and thoroughly depressed about the ruined areas of the city that he and his friends seemed almost to accept as part of war.

Safe in what had been her old bed at home, she pulled the blanket up further so she could tuck the ends around her shoulders. The room was so cold it was difficult to think straight, but she knew that was true for most of the nation. She wondered how far Bingham was from Liverpool and for the children’s sake she hoped this place was miles out in the sticks.

She shook herself. Why did it matter how far the village was from the city? She wouldn’t dream of applying. A headmistress was different altogether from a teacher. It would be far too big a leap and she wasn’t going to put herself through more humiliation by being rejected – this time for not being experienced enough. A pity, really. If they’d been advertising for a teacher she might well have been tempted to apply.

A few days later The Yorkshire Post forwarded two letters to her parents for the part-time assistant vacancy.

‘Trouble is, we can’t pay much,’ Lana’s father said as he came through the shop to the kitchen for lunch. ‘But I’d still have thought there’d be at least a half a dozen replies from married women who only want part-time.’ He held out the two opened letters for her.

‘I’ll have a look at these after supper tonight,’ she said, then hesitated. Should she say anything? She knew her father wouldn’t let it go further if she asked him not to. ‘Dad, in one of those magazines Mrs Randall-Smith left for Mum there was quite an interesting advert.’

‘Oh, what was that?’

She felt her father’s eyes studying her closely.

‘They want a headmistress for a school. Apparently, the headmaster has joined up and gone abroad. It’s obviously only for the duration of the war.’

‘Have you applied?’ her father asked casually as he picked up the tray with a bowl of lentil soup and bread and margarine, ready to take to his wife.

Lana shook her head.

‘What are you waiting for? It sounds right up your street.’

‘Because I don’t have any experience of being a headmistress.’

‘You could do it standing on your head.’

She grinned at him. ‘You’ve always had such faith in me, Dad. But it would be too terrifying.’

‘Nonsense. Can I see the advert?’

‘Let me take Mum’s tray.’ She took it from her father’s hands. ‘She’s probably got it.’

She was back in moments and handed her father the magazine.

‘Hmm.’ Her father looked up. ‘It only says an experienced teacher. It doesn’t mention anything about being an experienced headmistress.’

‘I know, but I wouldn’t feel confident organising the other teachers – telling them what they have to do.’

‘Darling, you’ve been in teaching long enough to know how it all works – the duties of the headmaster. And you’d be releasing a man to fight for his country.’

‘He’s already gone,’ Lana said.

‘There you are, then. Why don’t you apply and see what happens?’

‘It’s too far away. Near Liverpool.’

‘Straight through on the train,’ her father said. ‘Mind you, you’d certainly see some action there, if that’s what you’re looking for.’ He spooned up the last of his soup. ‘If you do decide, for heaven’s sake don’t let Mum know how bad it is. Jerry regularly bombs the docks, from what I read in the paper.’

‘It’s not in Liverpool itself – it’s in a village called Bingham. I’m not sure how far away it is from the city … but I shan’t apply.’

‘Her father gave her a sharp look. ‘Because the docks are so near?’

‘No, not that at all,’ Lana said quickly. ‘It’s because I’m needed in the shop.’

‘Not true.’ Her father set the tray down on the kitchen table again. ‘Both women who applied for the job sounded nice, so we’re bound to pick one of them.’ He looked at her, his eyes smiling. ‘Your country needs you more than we do, Lana.’

‘But the ATS won’t accept me—’

Her father ignored her. Instead, he said gently, ‘That goes for the school kids as well.’

‘Did you reply to that advert in The Lady?’ her mother said unexpectedly one afternoon when she was reading her book in the front room. Lana had just brought her a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit.

‘Dad shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

‘Well, he did. He thinks you ought to at least apply. I agree.’

‘Even though it’s in Liverpool?’

‘Yes. Being a headmistress would give you a sense of purpose, which is exactly what you need.’ She looked up at Lana and smiled gently. ‘I know Dickie would approve.’ From the bowl she scooped a tip end of sugar and stirred it into her tea. ‘Except for the rationing we’ve had very little to put up with, except the time when that little row of cottages was struck and that whole family was killed.’ She shook her head. ‘That was terrible.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Sometimes I think we should be doing more for the war effort.’

‘Don’t tell the villagers that, Mum. They wouldn’t know what to do without you and Dad for their food supplies.’ She looked at her mother’s pale face. ‘You need to eat more. You’ve lost quite a lot of weight since you’ve been ill.’

‘You’re changing the subject, dear. We were talking about the headmistress job. It would be a marvellous opportunity for you.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘If you don’t answer soon you’ll be too late. Mrs R-S gives me The Lady after her daughter’s read it.’

‘I’m sure it won’t have gone,’ Lana said. ‘Most people seem to be doing proper war work.’

Her mother gave her a sharp look. ‘Lana, get it out of your head that you wouldn’t be doing proper war work, as you call it, if you went back to teaching. All right, you wouldn’t be in the military, but your job with children would be just as important. Imagine how they must feel – terrified most of the time, I should think. You’d be bringing some fun into their lives, and some stability as they won’t have their fathers coming home every night. And some of them, poor little kids, will lose their fathers forever.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Mum.’ Lana looked across the room at her mother, a sob catching in the back of her throat. ‘I don’t know anything any more.’

‘Believe me, love, life’s too precious to waste. This war is taking far too many of our young people.’ Her mother blinked rapidly. ‘I think about your Dickie every day.’

Even at this distance Lana could see her mother’s eyes fill with tears and she knew she was also worrying desperately about her sons, Geoff and Nick, Lana’s beloved brothers, so far out at sea, not knowing from one day to the next if they were safe. She went and knelt by her mother’s chair.

‘Write the letter this evening,’ her mother said, stroking Lana’s head. ‘Will you promise?’

Lana nodded. ‘All right, Mum, if it makes you happy.’

The reply came through swiftly. The position had already gone, Mr Shepherd informed her. Thank you for your interest and I wish you good luck in seeking a suitable alternative position, he finished.

Her hands made fists. Another rejection. She knew it wasn’t personal – for heaven’s sake. The man didn’t know her – had never heard of her. But it felt like another slap in the face. She tore up the letter and threw the pieces onto the fire, enjoying the flames rising as the strips flared, then burned into ashes. It was meant to be that she didn’t go to Liverpool. Mr Shepherd and the successful applicant had made the decision for her. What a relief!

Chapter Two

She’d left it too late by dithering. As each day passed Lana became more annoyed with herself for not taking action. It would have been a marvellous opportunity to gain experience as a headmistress, albeit temporarily. Nothing was permanent in wartime anyway, but it would have looked good on her work record. At least she now knew what she wanted to do. She’d thought she’d wanted to join the ATS, that was true, but teaching was in her blood, and as soon as her parents employed an assistant for the shop she’d start applying to other schools.

Another week passed and Lana was kept busy with deliveries and serving in the shop while her mother built up her strength and carried on doing the bookkeeping. There were times in the evening, though, when Lana just longed to go out with a friend to the pictures – anything to relieve the relentless tedium. But most of her friends had joined up if they hadn’t already been conscripted. She would have been pleased to take her mother so she could escape to a world that didn’t consist of the constant round of cooking, cleaning, washing and all the other domestic chores on top of the accounts for the shop. But her mother always shook her head, her chin quivering with fright at the thought of venturing into the outside world. Lana gave a sigh of frustration.

The only bright spot was that the nights were drawing out and it was already March. The month when spring began. When the primroses showed their yellow faces along the verges. She’d already spotted snowdrops three weeks ago when she’d gone for a walk up the lane. Her heart lifted for a few moments and then the memory of Dickie’s face blocked out everything else, and an overwhelming sadness filled every part of her body. Her love had been extinguished by some nasty little Austrian’s megalomania, and his hatred of anyone who didn’t fit his bill of a perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed German. If Hitler had those physical traits it would be slightly more understandable, but he was the very opposite of what he ranted on about; yet no high-ranking German, from the little they were told, seemed to mock it, or even question it.

Dickie had only been the second serious boyfriend in her life. She’d never told her parents or they would have been shocked but she’d lived with the first one, Keith Travers, for two and a half years. She’d been twenty-five and old enough to know better but had been totally infatuated. He was every girl’s dream – handsome, intelligent, fun, successful at his job as a property developer … she could go on listing the things that had appealed. But he’d invested in the wrong company who’d done the dirty on him and he’d lost almost all his money. He’d changed overnight, becoming morose, angry, argumentative, even lazy about his appearance … No matter how she’d tried to help him and encourage him, he’d turned her away, shouting at her that she didn’t understand what a failure he felt.

Something flickered at the corner of her mind. Wasn’t that how she was feeling right this minute? She’d accused Keith of having no backbone, but wasn’t she acting exactly the same? Giving up, instead of gritting her teeth and getting on with it. It was over a year now since that terrible day when she’d had the telegram confirming Dickie’s death and most of her friends thought it was high time she pulled herself together and got on with her life. She wasn’t the only woman who’d lost her fiancé in the war, they reminded her. She’d immediately felt guilty, as two of them had lost their husbands, leaving little children without their fathers.

She swallowed hard as her thoughts rolled back to Keith again. To when she’d finally made a decision to be responsible for her own life.

An only child, his parents doted on him and she’d simply carried on doing everything for him. But one evening when he’d flounced out and, she presumed, gone to the pub, which he did most nights, she packed her clothes and her few small valuables, and left him a brief note on his pillow. Her friend, Belinda, had mentioned a spare room in a house she shared with two others if Lana should ever need it. But Keith hadn’t accepted it was the end of their relationship. He asked her to go back and after a solid month of begging, she’d given in. It had been a disaster and six weeks later she’d left for good.

Biting her lip she flinched at the memory and her own foolishness, but one good thing had come from the failed relationship: Keith owned a car. It was the one thing he’d managed to hold on to. Although her brothers had taught her to drive in their old Austin 7, it was Keith who showed her how to change a tyre and check the oil and water, and do basic maintenance work.

When she looked back she realised she couldn’t have truly cared because she’d got over him quickly. Dickie was different. She’d known he was special straightaway – and they’d hit it off as true friends. It had been a slow lead-up to love, but when the spark had burst into flames she knew she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. Now he’d been taken from her. By the bloody Germans. She swallowed but she couldn’t stop the tears flowing.

This morning the customers were even more demanding than usual. She was tired of reminding them that there was a war on.

‘Make us a cup of tea, love,’ her father said at ten past ten. ‘I’m that thirsty I can’t wait until eleven.’

She gave him a fond look. His eyes were drooping, not masking the lines of strain around them.

‘All right, Dad. I could do with one myself.’ She nodded over to the two boxes of biscuits that had just been delivered. ‘I’ll sort them out when I come back. There might be a few broken ones that we couldn’t possibly sell to our customers.’ She grinned. ‘Not to the adults, anyway.’

Her father chuckled and carried on stacking the shelf with the dozen tins of soup. No doubt they’d all have disappeared by the end of the morning, Lana thought, and who knew when there’d be another delivery.

She picked up an envelope her mother had left for her on the kitchen table and studied the handwriting. She could hear Mum upstairs and smiled. It was changing-the-beds day and nothing would alter her routine even though Lana had told her not to do it by herself. That she’d be there in a few minutes to help. Sliding the blade of a knife underneath the flap she pulled out a typed sheet of paper and glanced at the signature at the bottom. G. Shepherd. Curious. Her eyes lifted to the beginning.

18th March 1943

Dear Miss Ashwin,

I’m writing to you to inform you the situation has changed regarding the position for a temporary headmistress. Therefore, if you are still interested I would be very pleased to arrange for you to come for an interview as soon as possible.

I look forward to hearing from you shortly.

Respectfully yours,

G. Shepherd

Lana read the letter through twice to be sure she’d understood it correctly. Reading between the lines Mr Shepherd sounded worried. It was obvious the other person hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. She laid the sheet of paper on the table while she filled the kettle and prepared the tea tray, her head spinning. What should she do? She wasn’t ever going to pass her medical for one of the services, so that was out. There was no doubt about it – she’d loved every moment of teaching before she’d come home to give her parents a hand. It was just that joining one of the forces had seemed the only way to fight Dickie’s murderers and keep faithful to his memory.

She took her mother’s cup into the front room and read Mr Shepherd’s letter out.

‘There you are, love,’ her mother smiled. ‘I told you something would turn up. You just need patience.’ She looked at her daughter. ‘I hope you’ll write back straightaway and fix a time to see him.’

‘I think I will,’ Lana said slowly as she folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. ‘Yes, I will.’

Chapter Three

Five days later Lana was on the train to Liverpool.

It had been a long journey with a delay of over an hour when they were close to Liverpool. A siren had shrilled and the train had immediately stopped. Most people in the carriage carried on reading or chatting as though this was a normal daily routine, but Lana’s heart thundered hard in her chest. She flinched at the half-dozen explosions, even though they were muffled, but the train shook with the vibrations, causing her glasses to slip down her nose as she doggedly attempted to read her book.

She’d had no lunch and her stomach rumbled. Now, the pouring rain added to her misery as she waited for the number 42 bus outside Kirkdale station. At least in the train she’d been inside. Drops of water ran under her collar and seeped into her shoes. How much worse could it get?

‘Expect bus’ll be late as usual,’ the woman in front said to her companion. Their umbrellas bobbed as they talked, their accent so strong it was difficult for Lana to catch everything.

‘’S’not their fault, Mags,’ the second lady said as she moved a little to the side to escape her friend’s umbrella spokes. ‘They’ve gorra lot on their plates what with all them holes in the road. I don’t know how they do as well as they do.’

‘It’s your sort who never get things made any better,’ the first woman retorted. ‘You see the good in everyone. It’s ones like me who complain and get changes made. Then you cop the benefit but I end up the stirrer.’

Lana gave a start. It sounded as though the two were about to go into a full-scale row. To her relief the other one chuckled. ‘That’s true. They just think what an old dragon you are and what a lovely woman I am.’

‘If only it were true.’ Mags gave her friend a little push.

So they were only poking fun. She’d have to try to understand their humour if she did end up living here. But she wouldn’t think that far ahead. No point in getting her hopes up.

‘Bingham,’ called out the conductor as the bus slowed to a halt.

Lana glanced at her watch. Already three o’clock. Nearly an hour late. Not a good impression to give.

‘Is the village school very far?’ she asked him as she alighted.

‘No, pet. Not five minutes. It’s just up the road ahead of you. Low red-brick building on the other side. You can’t miss it.’

With the trains often delayed interminably, and sometimes not running at all, Lana had decided to stay the night in a bed-and-breakfast one of her customers had recommended. Her heart gave a little skip of freedom at the thought of being in a place where she wasn’t known. She wouldn’t have to force herself to smile when someone she hadn’t seen for a while enquired, ‘How’s that gorgeous fiancé of yours?’

When she explained, the person would be embarrassed and clearly wish they’d never asked. She’d have to mumble some excuse to rush away before they saw her tears.

She braced herself now and stepped down from the bus, thanking the conductor, relieved to see the rain had eased. The school building came in sight after only a few hundred yards. A sign pointed to ‘Office’ and she hurried through an arched entrance that opened onto a haphazard garden of concrete path, flower borders and patches of vegetables, with one dejected-looking tree stuck in the middle. The path led to a door with a notice: ‘Please ring the bell and enter’.

She found herself in a hall about the size of her parents’ front room. To one side was a recess with a protruding sign: Office. A woman of indecisive age, her hair scraped back into a severe bun, sat peering through a glazed screen, looking Lana up and down before she spoke.

‘Miss Ashwin?’

Lana nodded.

‘You’re very late.’

Not the warmest welcome, Lana thought, as she shrugged off her damp raincoat, giving herself time to respond.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, folding her raincoat and laying it across her arm. ‘The poor driver had to make so many detours with all the damaged streets. I don’t envy them their jobs at the moment.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ the woman said with a sniff. ‘Mr Shepherd has been waiting I don’t know how long. I’d better let him know you’ve finally arrived.’

Lana looked around, longing to sit for a few moments after her long journey but there was no seat provided. They obviously didn’t want to let visitors linger too long, she thought, biting back a grimace. What a sombre place. She almost decided she wouldn’t bother seeing Mr Shepherd, but could hear her mother telling her not to be so rude. Well, she’d meet him and be quick about it, saying she realised Liverpool was just too far away, then make some excuse that her parents needed her as they hadn’t been able to find a suitable person to help in the shop. Anything to escape.

These thoughts were churning around her head when she heard someone call her name.

‘Miss Ashwin?’

She swung round to see a figure limping towards her.

‘George Shepherd.’ She held out her hand and he shook hers briefly. ‘Come this way.’

She followed him along a corridor and another short passage where he opened a door on the left and ushered her in.

‘Sit down, Miss Ashwin. Expect you’ve had a frightful journey.’

He spoke in a crisp tone like a military man and didn’t seem to expect a response to his comment. She nodded and took in a breath.

‘Damned nuisance, this bloody war,’ he said, then smiled at her reaction. ‘I do apologise, Miss Ashwin. Too used to being with chaps all day long. Not used to females in the least.’

She smiled, the tension dissipating a little. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, thinking he must have been a soldier injured in the war.

‘I don’t work here, God forbid,’ he said, grimacing. ‘I’m from the council – Education Department. The school is understaffed with everyone rushing to do their bit but we must keep the schools going. These nippers need a bit of continuity in their lives, poor little buggers.’ He looked across the desk and made a tutting noise. ‘Oh, sorry. Am in bad habits.’

‘There’s no need at all to apologise, Mr Shepherd, but coming here I realised Liverpool was much further from home than I’d thought. I wanted to tell you in person that I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. I know you haven’t offered me the job as I’ve only just arrived, but I’ll be catching the train home tomorrow. I see now that I should stay a bit closer to home.’

Mr Shepherd’s skin tone changed colour. ‘You mean we’re both on a wild goose chase. Shouldn’t you have thought of that before I arranged the interview?’

‘It’s my turn to apologise,’ Lana said quietly. ‘It’s hard to know how one would feel upping sticks and leaving family behind. I can’t see myself being happy here. And if I’m not happy then the children won’t be. I’d be doing them a disservice.’

‘I believe I’d be the best judge of that.’ George Shepherd tapped his pen on the desk. His eyes, a strange mixture of brown and green, caught hers.

Lana squirmed in her chair, feeling seven years old and being told off by her teacher. She was just about to say it was best to know sooner rather than later how she felt when he came out from behind his desk and opened the door. For an instant she thought he was sending her off with no further ado, but instead he called a passing lad.

‘Young man, please go to the kitchen and ask them for a tray of tea … cake, too, if they’ve got any.’

He went back to his chair and a smile twitched on his lips. ‘Can’t send you away with nothing inside you,’ he said. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Not since breakfast.’

‘Hmm. You’ll waste away if you carry on like that.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘While we’re waiting, tell me about yourself. Humour me. Even though you’ve turned down a job I haven’t yet offered you.’

Lana couldn’t help a small smile. He had a dry sense of humour, which she liked. She explained a little of her circumstances without mentioning Dickie but again, as though he knew she was holding something back, he barked: ‘Husband? Boyfriend?’

‘I had a fiancé,’ she said with only a faint tremor.

‘Had?’

‘His ship was torpedoed by a U-boat only a few days after leaving Liverpool. Most of them survived but not Dickie.’

‘Bad luck. How long ago?’

‘Forty-one. He left on 23rd August and went down on the 28th.’ She swallowed hard, desperate not to allow her voice to waver. His mother and father had told her as much as they knew, both of them with tears pouring down their cheeks. She’d never spoken about it to anyone else, not even her own parents, except to say he’d drowned.

Mr Shepherd’s eyes widened. ‘On the Otaio?’

Lana gave a start. ‘Yes. How on earth did you know?’

‘I was also Merchant Navy. That’s how I got this gammy leg.’ He appraised her for a minute. ‘Why didn’t you join up? Help get the buggers.’ He grinned. ‘And this time I won’t apologise for swearing in front of a lady. It’s the only name that suits them.’

She gave a weak smile back. ‘I agree. I wanted to but failed the medical in the ATS.’

‘Oh? On what grounds?’

‘Flat feet,’ she mumbled. It was as though she had something to be ashamed of, she thought, crossly.

‘Sorry to hear it but of course it wouldn’t affect your teaching abilities.’

There was a knock at the door and a maid entered holding a tea tray.

‘Please thank Cook and ask her for a round of sandwiches for the lady,’ Mr Shepherd said.

‘Yes, sir.’ The girl bobbed her head and vanished.

‘You’re very kind,’ Lana murmured.

‘Not at all. I just want to know what I can do to persuade you to stay here and do the vital job of educating children.’

‘Teaching is what I love,’ Lana said cautiously. ‘It’s just that Liverpool is so far away.’

‘From your parents?’

Lara nodded.

‘Are they ill?’

‘My mother’s been very ill but she’s much better now. No, it’s not that. They own a grocer’s shop and it’s too much for them now the assistant’s joined up and my mother is having to run the house as well as do the bookkeeping.’

‘They could always sell up and come to Liverpool. Be near their daughter.’

‘They couldn’t do that. You see, my mother doesn’t even go out, so she’d never move.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She has a condition. Agoraphobia.’ She rarely told anyone this as they had either never heard of the condition or found it impossible to understand, and she was tired of hearing people say her mother should buck herself up. But she felt she owed Mr Shepherd an explanation for all his trouble.

‘She was always on the nervous side,’ she continued, feeling his gaze on her, ‘but going through the Blitz has made her far worse. She began to get nervous attacks and now she’s too frightened to catch a bus into town on her own – or even go into our village by herself.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ George Shepherd said, steepling his hands. ‘Not a nice thing to have to deal with. But she wouldn’t want that to hold you back, would she?’

‘Oh, no,’ Lana said truthfully. ‘She wants me to live my life to the full. In fact, both my parents encouraged me to apply for this job, even knowing it was near Liverpool.’

‘Well, then …’

They were interrupted again with the welcome sound of the maid bringing in a plate of sandwiches. George pushed the plate over to her.

‘Yours,’ he said. ‘And Cook’s custard tarts. You’ll feel completely different with one of those inside you.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t talk. Just enjoy it.’

He poured her a cup of tea and she drank it down gratefully. The two triangles of egg and cucumber sandwiches slipped down easily, and Mr Shepherd was right about the cook’s custard tarts. He insisted she eat the second one as well. They were delicious.

‘Better?’ Mr Shepherd said.

‘Much. Thank you.’

‘Well, then, why don’t I show you round. It’s an interesting building and you’ve come all this way.’

She loved seeing different schools, getting a measure of how they ran, seeing if there was anything they did that would improve her own school – not that the headmaster at her last school had ever taken any notice of her suggestions.

‘I’d like that,’ she said as she rose from her chair.

‘I’ll show you a couple of the classrooms,’ he said, limping by her side. ‘This one’s Miss Booth’s mathematics class.’

Lana peered a few moments through the glazed door to see a blur of children sharing desks. An older girl suddenly caught her eye. She sat at the side of the class halfway between the children’s desks and the teacher at the front. The girl raised her head and looked through the glass. To Lana’s surprise she threw Lana a look of utter despair, then bent her head down again, scribbling rapidly in her notebook.

She was obviously extremely nervous about something. How odd. She was a pretty child, but those eyes had registered such misery for someone so young.

Just as Lana stepped back, the door opened and a young woman stood there, brown eyes warm with welcome.

‘Do come in,’ she said. ‘Are you the new headmistress? Oh, I do hope so.’ She didn’t stop for Lana to say otherwise. ‘The children are so excited to have a new headmistress. They weren’t all that fond of Mr Benton. He was terribly strict. Like some Victorian master.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, dear, I shouldn’t talk like this in front of you, Mr Shepherd. You’ll get me sacked.’

‘I doubt that.’ George Shepherd smiled as he lightly touched Lana’s arm to guide her in. ‘Teachers aren’t two a penny any more, so we may be stuck with you.’ The teacher chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’ve brought Miss Ashwin to have a look round the school. And yes, I’m trying to persuade her to take the position of headmistress.’

With a loud scraping of chairs thirty-odd children scrambled to their feet. Lana noticed the older girl was the last one to stand up.

‘Children, this is Miss Ashwin, come to say hello.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Ashwin,’ they chorused.

The older girl didn’t move her mouth.

‘Sit down, children,’ the teacher said in a raised voice. She smiled and put out her hand, saying quietly, ‘Wendy Booth. Seriously, please think about the position. We’re a friendly bunch when you get to know us, and we need someone like you desperately.’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ Lana said, lamely.

‘What have you been saying to put Miss Ashwin off?’ Wendy Booth grinned mischievously at George Shepherd.

‘On the contrary, I’m doing my best to encourage her.’

‘In that case, don’t take her next door. Mrs Parkes has had to cope with a very unruly child who’s disturbing the others. Not a good scene for Miss Ashwin to see.’

‘I’ve probably seen worse,’ Lana said fervently. ‘That sort of thing doesn’t put me off. But we’re keeping you from your class,’ she finished as she noticed the sea of faces watching them curiously.

‘Yes, I’d better get back,’ Wendy Booth agreed. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you, and I do hope you’ll join us.’

Lana smiled and turned before the teacher could discern her tears. She felt Wendy could be a friend. It had been too long since she’d had someone to confide in. To lay the past to rest. To think of the future.

George Shepherd took her round the rest of the school and even introduced her to Meg, the cook, who bustled about, but had a smile for her when Lana thanked her for the sandwich and custard tarts.

‘I didn’t mention the salary,’ George Shepherd said when they returned to the office. ‘Four pounds a week plus accommodation in a two-bedroomed cottage in the grounds with Janice Parkes, the history teacher Miss Booth mentioned.’

It was more than she’d expected. It seemed that a headmistress was generously rewarded for the added responsibility. She hesitated, not knowing how to answer.

‘And you’d be running the show,’ George Shepherd cut into her thoughts slyly, ‘making sure you were one happy family, kids included. I think you’d make a marvellous success of it.’

‘As I explained, I’ve never held the position of headmistress.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ Mr Shepherd said immediately. ‘But we did want someone with more than a couple of years’ teaching experience, and you’ve had three times that.’

Lana was silent. Mr Shepherd was waiting for her to answer. She began to feel uncomfortable.

‘Where do the children come from?’ she asked, more for something to say.

‘Mostly Bingham, but some from the neighbouring village, which is even smaller. One twelve-year-old, Priscilla Morgan, lives at Bingham Hall – that’s the Dr Barnardo’s orphanage, half a mile away – but she attends school here. I’d like to talk to you about her in particular. She desperately needs help. Mr Benton was not the kind of person she could talk to. She’s an orphan but won’t believe it. It’s had a devastating effect on her studies as she’s been removed from the girls’ grammar school in Liverpool where she’d been doing very well up until then.’ He took his glasses off and polished them with a soft cloth before pushing them back on his nose. ‘Didn’t you say you taught eleven- to thirteen-year-olds?’

Lana nodded.

Mr Shepherd was watching her closely. She was sure he was talking about the girl who had given her such a look of hopelessness.

‘She’s got wonderful potential,’ Mr Shepherd continued. ‘She’s a difficult child – not naughty, really – it’s just that she doesn’t trust anyone any more. I think you’d be able to help her. She deserves it.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes unwavering. ‘So what do you say, Miss Ashwin?’

Chapter Four

The return journey on the train was even more fraught than the one going to Liverpool. It stopped at every possible unnamed town, and sometimes in between for no apparent reason. No sirens had gone off and the guard hadn’t explained the reason for the hold-ups. He probably didn’t know himself. Lana’s frustration was fuelled by her thoughts, which were spinning out of control. The children needed a headmistress in place of this Mr Benton. Deep down, she knew she was capable of doing the job, though it would be a challenge – a big step up. She wished she could have met Janice Parkes who she’d be sharing the cottage with. That was important. She wouldn’t be able to stand anyone who was morose, or worse, didn’t stop talking. She couldn’t help a wry smile. Mrs Parkes was more than likely a perfectly nice person and she would be worrying herself sick as to who was about to step into what she’d probably considered to be her cottage.

She wondered what Dickie would say if he could see her now. How she missed him. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she tried to block out the recurring nightmare of the torpedoes that struck his ship, leaving him to drown or be blown up – she’d never know for sure. Even so, it felt too much to bear. Such a wasted life. And all the others, of course. Later she’d learned there were many survivors, and that had made her even more upset. Why couldn’t Dickie have survived?

For the hundredth time she wondered what his last terrified thoughts had been. She gulped. She mustn’t break down in front of the other people in the carriage.

‘Promise me you won’t join up.’ She could hear his voice at their last parting. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of you in any kind of danger. No matter what happens to me, I want to think of you teaching children. That’s where your heart is. And I love you for it.’ He’d looked at her and grinned. ‘Besides, with that red hair of yours and a quick temper to match, I can’t see you toeing the line or taking orders.’ When she’d opened her mouth to protest he’d kissed her lips to hush her. ‘I probably know you better than you know yourself. The kids need someone original like you to give them hope in this crazy world. They are the future now.’

But my heart’s no longer in it, she wanted to scream at him as she sat on the carriage seat squashed between two women in the ATS. Three airmen were standing close by and smoking. Her eyes began to water. That rotten stinking Hitler and his friends caused you to die and I’m going to do everything in my power to help pay them back, so help me God.

The people in the carriage were starting to throw her curious looks. She turned her face away and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

When she finally arrived home her mother bustled into the kitchen to heat up her supper. Lana followed her, watching as her mother put the plate over a saucepan of boiling water and a lid over the top.

‘There … that won’t take more than a few minutes to heat through,’ she said, looking round and smiling. ‘Go and keep Dad company. We’ve had ours … and we’re dying to hear about it.’

‘Your mother’s been on tenterhooks all day, wondering how you were getting on,’ her father said.

‘Well, he’s offered me the position,’ Lana said, as her mother put a plate of macaroni cheese in front of her. ‘More money – four pounds a week and all found. Sharing a cottage with another teacher. I didn’t meet her but I met one – the mathematics teacher. She was awfully nice.’

‘What about the man who interviewed you?’ her father said.

‘Mr Shepherd? He was nice too. He doesn’t work there – he’s from the council – but he interviews prospective staff.’

‘Have you decided?’ her mother said, smiling encouragingly.

‘Not really.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said I’d think about it and let him know either way by telephone by the end of the week.’

Her father nodded. ‘Very wise, dear. It’s a big decision. But if you say you’ll take it, your mother and I are right behind you. The change of scenery would do you the world of good and you’d do a marvellous job. Those children would flourish. But only you know what would suit you best.’

‘Thank you both.’ Lana gave them a relieved smile. They were the dearest parents in the world and she wanted them to be proud of her. She shrugged. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she couldn’t bear to be in limbo for much longer.

It was the afternoon. She’d been watching her father attend to several customers who were plainly upset with their meagre rations. The egg delivery that was promised definitely for today hadn’t come in, and one lady had grabbed an orange from the half-dozen in the basket clearly marked ‘For Children Only’, saying she wanted to give it to her daughter who had just had a baby. Dad had explained the oranges weren’t for babies but for children who could peel their own fruit. The lady lost her temper and said it wasn’t fair and she was sick of queuing for what little was left when she finally got to the top of the queue …

And then someone opened the shop door making the bell jangle. A man walked in. He was the same height and build … same chestnut hair … same narrow face. For a fleeting moment, in the dim electric light, she thought Dickie had come back to her. Her heart jumped and she had to put her hands on the edge of the counter to steady herself. But this man didn’t have Dickie’s heart-melting smile. As her pulse slowed, the man gave her a brief nod and put his list on the counter.

But it was too late. That initial reaction jogged her memory of when she’d first met Dickie. She’d come home from teaching for the summer holidays and had just brought her father and Marjorie a cup of tea. She saw the appreciative smile as the man looked at her, then lowered his eyes to her hands, giving a slight nod. It was the summer before war was declared.

‘He came in every day for a week,’ her father told her, smiling. ‘Poor chap. You should see the look of disappointment on his face when he sees you’re not there. He’s been in just now and asked me to give you this note.’

Lana laughed. ‘It’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel,’ she said as she picked up the letter opener her father always had handy in a jam jar on one of the shelves behind her.

Dear Lana, (it’s what your father calls you so I hope you don’t mind)

I keep hoping to see you when I go in the shop, but I’ve now run out of things to buy!

So I prepared this note in case the same thing happened today – and it did. You weren’t anywhere in sight.

I was wondering if you fancy going out somewhere where we can talk. I would like to get to know you better and hope you feel the same. If so, we can go to a little restaurant in York where I know the owner. The food is very good.

What about this Saturday? Say, 7 p.m.?

Do please say you’ll come.

Dickie Knight – maybe your knight in shining armour!

She’d laughed at that and taken a chance, though she’d been wary. She knew nothing about him but her father vouched for him saying he’d been a regular customer for the last three months and was always polite and well spoken. As if that made him a good person. Lana gave a wry smile. But her father prided himself on being a good judge of character.

Six weeks later Dickie told her he had fallen in love with her. Then the following week Hitler invaded Poland, and three days later Britain declared war on Germany. Dickie joined the Merchant Navy the following day.

He loved the sea – she knew that. It was her only major concern. She’d have to be prepared for long absences. But in a way it suited her independent spirit. It was always romantic when he came home on shore leave – as though they were meeting for the first time.

It had taken a year before he’d mentioned marriage.

‘I’ve decided when this blasted war ends I want to settle on shore. I’ve already seen enough sea to last me the rest of my life. And enough terrible things.’

He’d always refused to give her any details.

‘You don’t want to know,’ he’d said, tenderly smoothing the hair away from her forehead and kissing it. ‘But I’ve realised I want to be with you always. Will you marry me, darling Lana? I promise I’ll be a good husband.’

‘You’d damned well better be,’ she laughed. ‘And the answer is yes, I’ll marry you. But only when the war is over.’

‘Why wait? We’re not a couple of kids. I’m thirty-two and you’re twenty-nine.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ she’d said, chuckling. ‘All right, then, we’ll marry the next time you have at least three days’ leave. I’m determined to have a honeymoon, even if it’s only two nights.’

Feeling the tears well at the memory she rushed from the shop, leaving her father to serve the man who’d reminded her so much of Dickie. She had to get away. Dickie was right. She’d be far more use teaching children.

Lana could almost see in her mind’s eye Dickie’s triumphant grin when she telephoned Mr Shepherd to say she’d decided to take the position as temporary headmistress.

‘When can you start?’ he asked immediately.

She thought quickly. It was 29th March. ‘What about the beginning of May? Easter is late this year so I could come after that.’

‘What about the first of April?’ Mr Shepherd didn’t pause.

Lana grinned to herself. ‘And risk being an April Fool?’

This time Mr Shepherd clearly hesitated. Then his voice came over the line. ‘The second, then. Would that be possible? I can’t tell you how desperate we are, and we think you’ll be the perfect choice.’

‘You’re not giving me much notice,’ Lana said, reluctantly. But what notice did she really need? Mrs Brooke, a young widow, had started that morning in the shop and appeared quick to learn and was delightful with the customers. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘The second of April it is.’

His sigh of relief blew down the telephone wire, making her smile. ‘Good. I’ll get the paperwork ready for you to sign when you’re here.’ She could picture him now, relieved the headmistress vacancy was resolved. ‘It will be a three-month probation period to make sure we’re happy on both sides. I’m sure we will be. The salary will be five guineas a week, all found, with most Saturdays and every Sunday off. One week’s holiday pay a year.’

Lana hesitated. She’d have to say something.

‘Five guineas a week sounds wonderful, but you told me at the interview it was four pounds.’

‘My fault. I was looking at the teachers’ salary. You’ll be the headmistress but I appreciate you telling me.’ He paused. ‘Does that sound fair?’

‘Very.’ Strangely she felt a huge relief as though an inner part of her was settled.

‘Any further questions?’

‘Do any of the children board?’

‘No. It’s strictly a day school. But with this war we know that could change at any minute. We have a couple of large upper rooms that could easily be turned into dormitories, should the need arise.’

She could sense that Mr Shepherd wasn’t about to make any idle chat. He’d got the replacement and simply wanted to get on with matters. That suited her very well.

‘Thank you very much, Mr Shepherd,’ Lana finished. ‘You’ve been most kind.’

‘We will look forward to seeing you in four days’ time, then.’

‘Yes, four days’ time,’ she repeated.

Maybe things were finally falling into place.

Chapter Five
April 1943

Her body bent in an ungainly position, Lana struggled with her suitcase up the short drive to the school. The case was so heavy she’d had to keep changing hands. Most of the weight was in books. A few for herself, a couple of teaching books and a good dictionary, just in case the school didn’t have a decent one.

She rang the bell and stepped in the hall as she had the first time, but George Shepherd was nowhere in sight. Neither was the woman with the tight bun behind the glazed screen. Instead, a tallish woman with no-nonsense dark brown hair tied back strode towards her and stuck out her hand.

‘You must be Lana Ashwin. Janice Parkes. How do you do?’ The woman’s voice was as clipped as her manner.

Lana put her hand into the woman’s larger one, inwardly satisfied to note she was that bit taller than the teacher.

‘Very pleased to meet you.’

‘I believe you’ll be sharing my cottage,’ Janice Parkes said.

Did she detect a cool note in the teacher’s voice? Maybe the woman was just tired. Lana would have to give her the benefit of the doubt. She put on her brightest smile.

‘Yes, so Mr Shepherd said. I do hope you won’t mind too much.’

‘Too bad if I do, apparently,’ Janice Parkes said tartly.

So she hadn’t imagined things. The history teacher was definitely resentful. Why hadn’t she insisted on meeting the woman she’d be sharing the cottage with before she’d agreed to make the move? It was too late now, and she’d have to make the best of it. She decided to ignore Janice Parkes’s last remark.

‘Would it be possible for me to go over to the cottage and unpack my case?’ she asked.

Janice Parkes glared at the case as though it were a child who was misbehaving, then looked at her watch.

‘You’d better come with me this minute, as I have a class in ten minutes.’

She turned on her heel and marched out of the entrance door. Lana followed closely and cursed under her breath to think she had been so naïve as to assume the teacher she’d be sharing with would be pleasant. Janice Parkes hurried along a path at the side of the building and round the back where a pair of plain brick semi-detached cottages stood. The teacher went up the path of the nearest one and turned a key in the door. She pushed it open, pocketed the key, and turned to Lana.

‘Just pull the door to when you leave.’ And with that she stalked off.

Lana was glad she had. She needed time to compose herself. To think what she’d done. If Janice had given her the same warm welcome that the nice mathematics teacher Wendy Booth had, she knew she would have felt completely different. Why did it have to be Janice with whom she had to live in such proximity?

Lana put her case down and stepped back a few feet to take in the outside before entering. It was a plain exterior, which she felt would be vastly improved by cleaning the murky sash windows and repainting the orange front door that clashed horribly with the red brickwork. It could be a sweet cottage but had the air of one that had been neglected. Her gaze fell on the adjoining one. It was in complete contrast with its crystal-clear windows and green door, the colour of ferns. Lana’s eyes stung with tears. The cottage was exactly like the one she and Dickie had dreamed of. She’d suggested renting a flat when they’d first started to talk about where they’d like to live because it was cheaper, but Dickie had insisted on a little house with a garden.

‘All that time seeing nothing but sea,’ he’d said. ‘So when I’m home I must be able to step out onto grass and see trees and flowers.’

She’d happily agreed even though she knew little about gardening. Her father loved pottering about in his vegetable plot as a way of relaxing after standing so many hours in the shop. Lana’s mother preferred roses and shrubs. But since the war started the flowers had had to make way for more vegetables.

The cottage next door’s garden, with its recently painted white picket fence, was neat as ninepence, with an area dug over presumably ready for planting, whereas Janice Parkes’s garden was nothing but a mass of choking weeds and unruly ivy climbing the wall and doing its best to work into the roof.

After stepping into the dark cramped hallway Lana pushed open a door … and gasped. Presumably it was the living room though it was hard to tell. There wasn’t one inch of floor space or any other space. Every possible surface that could hold something was piled high. A sofa indicated someone had slept on it recently, by the way there were two pillows on the floor beside it, and a pile of blankets. A dirty cup was turned over on its side. The one other chair in the room was overflowing with clothes and shoes, which surely should have been in a bedroom. Is this how the woman lived? She’d given the appearance of a neat, clean, conservative teacher but her home said something quite different.

Lana put her case down and came back to the small hall. She strode through to the dining room and gazed round. This was the same. What should have been a dining room table was loaded with books and newspapers and a dirty wine glass. The three dining chairs were piled with more papers. A modest pine dresser, which should have been a striking piece of furniture, was practically obliterated by the crockery and dishes and even a couple of saucepans, and the smell from several overflowing ashtrays dotted around the room caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

How could people live like this?

Not only would Janice resent being told to tidy up her things, but she would also take issue with the fact that the request was coming not from a teacher, but from the new headmistress.

Pulling a face, Lana stepped through an arch to the kitchen. At first appearance, it wasn’t quite so bad. There was a stack of dirty dishes in the sink and another pile that looked clean on the wooden draining board. Any work surface was home to items that didn’t belong in a kitchen, such as a pair of binoculars and a book: Birds in your Garden, but the small kitchen table covered with a pale blue cloth actually had space for two people to sit, and the kitchen chairs were empty of belongings.

Even if she decided not to take up the position, she’d have to spend at least the night here so she had a chance to talk to Mr Shepherd and explain her reasons. Grimacing, she hauled her case up the gently curved stairway to the landing.

One door at either side. She opened the left-hand one. Janice’s. The same untidy heap. Clothes all over the bed and chair, dressing table choked with so much rubbish you couldn’t possibly see your reflection in the mirror, Lana thought, with a curl of her lip. She shut the door quickly and opened the door on the right. It was tidy although the bed wasn’t made up, but there was a stack of sheets and pillowcases and towels on the chair. She looked in the wardrobe where there were half a dozen wooden coat hangers mournfully swinging on the rail when she pulled open the doors. No dressing table at all, though there was a sink with a decent mirror over. The room was smaller than Janice’s but she didn’t care. At that moment, she doubted she’d be staying more than a night.

There was another door at the far end of the landing and she opened it to find a bathroom with Janice’s things tossed all over the place, though upon inspection the toilet and sink and bath were all reasonably clean. But it was the general feel of the place. An atmosphere that Lana wasn’t used to at home.

She set to and made up the bed, worrying about the waste of clean linen if she didn’t take up the position. Hurrying over to the schoolhouse, her stomach rumbling at every step, she glanced at her watch. Goodness – ten past three. She’d had nothing to eat since her porridge that morning. Maybe the cook would give her something to tide her over until supper.

‘Here you are, lass.’ Meg put the tea and toasted currant bun in front of Lana. ‘You’ll feel better for something inside you. Why didn’t you say you’d had nowt?’

‘I’ve only just realised, Cook,’ Lana said.

‘Oh, just call me Meg. It’s nicer.’

Meg was a short dumpy lady, somewhere in her fifties, Lana guessed, although her cheeks were smooth, the blue eyes clear and bright, as she stood over her like a hen guarding her chicks. ‘Do eat up. As it’s your first evening I’ll leave the two of you some supper.’ She paused. ‘Janice is not one to cook so I doubt she’s got anything prepared for you.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Janice’s frame filled the doorway, a mocking smile on her lips. ‘I was relying on you, Cook.’

‘Your luck’s in then,’ Meg said briskly, going to the oven and removing a large dish. ‘Shepherd’s pie.’ She placed it on the kitchen table, assessing it with a critical eye. ‘You can easily heat it through. And there’s plenty for second helpings for both of you.’

‘Thank you, Meg.’ Lana was aware of Janice watching her closely.

‘We call her “Cook”.’ Janice Parkes’s tone was knife sharp.

‘I told Lana to call me Meg,’ Cook said, folding her arms and not taking her gaze from Janice.

‘Fine, if that’s what you want,’ Janice Parkes said. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She nodded to Lana and vanished.

‘She’ll come a cropper one day,’ Meg said after her disappearing back. ‘Shame. She used to be quite a nice woman.’ The cook sighed. ‘Oh, well, better get back to work. You stay right there, Miss Ashwin, and finish your tea.’

‘Lana, please, if I’m still allowed to call you Meg after Janice Parkes’s glare.’ Lana grinned.

‘She’s her own worst enemy,’ Meg said, her back to Lana as she reached up to pull a large enamel bowl off the shelf.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, when she first came she was as nice as pie. But since—’ Meg stopped, and pressed her lips together. ‘No, I shouldn’t say anything. Let her tell you herself if she wants to. But it’s changed her and she’s often snippy and her manner doesn’t have a good effect on the children, even though her heart’s in the right place.’

Lana was silent, digesting the information. Something awful must have happened to Janice Parkes for her to change so radically. But why should she put up with someone who was permanently angry? It was making her feel uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Lana heard her grandmother’s voice in her ear when she was fourteen or fifteen.

‘Lana, my dear, you can do anything you set your mind to, but you’re apt to run away when things don’t suit you,’ her grandmother would frequently tell her. She’d fix her tired grey eyes on Lana and nod as though to emphasise her words. ‘You’ll find through life that many things won’t be to your liking – some things you can change and some you can’t. But it’s up to you to give, more than take. That’s what will teach you to have empathy for others and the backbone to stand you in good stead.’

Lana closed her eyes, picturing her grandmother standing at the old stove, making a delicious stew to tickle her taste buds. How she missed the old lady’s wisdom.

Meg gestured for her to pour herself another cup of tea.

Chapter Six

‘The children will be going home soon,’ Meg said, as she glanced up at the kitchen clock.

‘May I ask you something?’ Lana said.

‘Of course, lass. It won’t be the first question you’ll want answering.’ Meg sat on a seat opposite. She gave Lana an encouraging smile.

‘I was wondering about the older child in Miss Booth’s class,’ Lana said. ‘I noticed her when I came for the interview. She was sitting away from the other children. Mr Shepherd said she needed help.’

She waited tentatively for Meg to answer.

‘That’s Priscilla, poor love,’ Meg said, crossing herself. ‘One minute she was a happy girl with two loving parents, and next breath her mother and father were walking back from the cinema in the blackout and a car with no headlights, of course, ploughed into them. They were killed outright.’

‘Oh, how dreadful. Poor Priscilla. Where was she when it happened?’

‘The children were rehearsing a play at her school,’ Meg said. ‘Priscilla was in it. Leading light, I believe. Her dad was going to fetch her after the rehearsal. He never turned up, so she refuses to think they died. They were both mangled, apparently …’ Meg drew in a shaky breath. ‘There’s never been a proper service. It’s all so sad.’

Lana shuddered. ‘How long ago was it?’

‘Must be two or three months. She’s now living at Bingham Hall – the orphanage. From what I hear, she’s most unhappy. But then who wouldn’t be, becoming an orphan overnight? But you mustn’t use that word to her or she goes barmy. I feel so sorry for her.’ Meg gathered the dirty cups and plates. ‘The trouble is, the shock seems to have affected her brain. She’s a bright child, really.’ Meg took the dishes to the sink. She turned round to Lana and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘The police had to break the news to her about her parents but she doesn’t believe them. She thinks if she is very, very good they’ll be restored to her.’

‘Oh, what a heart-breaking story,’ Lana said, tears springing to her eyes as she pictured the child trying to take in such terrible news from strangers.

‘It was a shame Mr Benton hadn’t joined up before it happened,’ Meg went on. ‘He was a strict headmaster and was not the best person to help Priscilla in those first dreadful weeks. She needed love and kindness and understanding – which is where you’ll be able to help, I’m sure.’

There was simply no possibility for Lana to tell this nice cook that nothing was definite. Not after seeing the despair on Priscilla’s face and Meg telling her the child’s background.

‘Changing the subject, what did you think of the cottage?’ Meg asked.

‘A mess,’ Lana answered without hesitation. ‘And that’s being kind.’

Meg chuckled. ‘Yes, Janice is not the most house-proud woman.’

‘It was so bad I almost decided there and then I couldn’t stay,’ Lana said, smiling. ‘But I’m looking for a challenge, so I might reconsider.’

‘Now you’re talking,’ Meg said, putting the shepherd’s pie into a basket. She set it on the table in front of Lana. ‘Well, this evening will give you the chance to get to know Janice. Her bark’s often worse than her bite.’

Lana walked back to the cottage, keeping the basket steady, all the time thinking about Priscilla and Janice. She realised she hadn’t thought about her own anger over Dickie’s death all afternoon. Maybe this was just what she needed. To stop thinking about herself and be aware that other people were going through misery of their own. And poor Priscilla was still only a child – so much for a young girl to bear. Was it meant to be that Lana had come to the school to help her?

She didn’t believe in fate so that was nonsense. And anyway, she had to face Janice first of all. She’d soon know if Janice was going to thaw out or not if she didn’t respond positively to Meg’s delicious-smelling pie.

Feeling a little silly, Lana knocked on the door, then tried the handle. It swung open. She could hear scuffling in the kitchen.

‘It’s me,’ she called, but there was no response. A smell of cabbage wafted through. She gave a wry smile and went into the kitchen. Janice had set the table for supper.

‘Oh, you’re back,’ Janice said, glancing up, then lifting the lid of a saucepan. ‘Just dump the dish on the table. I’ve made some cabbage to go with it,’ she added unnecessarily.

‘I’m hungry just smelling everything.’ Lana set the dish on a tablemat. ‘I meant to bring a sandwich for the train but forgot, and breakfast seems a long time ago – apart from Meg’s toasted bun, that is.’ She smiled but there was no response from Janice who was frowning as she tried a shred of cabbage.

‘I think it’s done,’ she said, turning off the gas, ‘so we may as well eat early.’

Janice was very quiet during the meal, not inviting conversation. Lana could hear herself swallow. It unnerved her. How on earth could she even contemplate sharing a cottage with such a woman? And yet … Meg had said she didn’t used to be so morose. Something must have happened, but how could she broach any kind of personal question when she’d only just arrived at the school? Well, there was one question she could ask.

‘Janice, will you tell me the truth?’

Janice looked up, her eyes wide. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you all right about sharing the cottage with me?’

‘Not really, if you must know, but I don’t have any say in it.’

‘Well, at least you’ve been honest,’ Lana said. This is going to be even more difficult than I thought. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘As you can see, I like to spread my things around. And I don’t like being nagged about it.’

‘Sounds like you’ve shared the cottage with someone else and it didn’t work out.’

‘It was a disaster,’ came the swift reply. ‘And I don’t want to repeat it.’

‘Was it another teacher?’

‘Yes. And the teacher happened to be my husband.’

Lana put her knife and fork neatly together and waited for her to continue.

‘Not unusual in normal circumstances,’ Janice said, her lip curling, ‘but unbeknown to me, he was carrying on with someone else – one of the school cleaners. Can you believe it?’ She threw Lana a fierce look.

Lana’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness. When was this?’

‘Two Christmases ago. I threw him out. He’d have to have joined up anyway, so it was no real hardship. And I’ve been quite happy on my own, thank you very much. My divorce should be through any day now.’

‘I admit that what happened to you was pretty awful,’ Lana said, rising from the table and taking the plates over to the sink to wash. ‘But you’ll meet someone else one day. Until then, you mustn’t allow yourself to be bitter or it will ruin your life.’

Isn’t that what Mum and Dad and my friends keep telling me? And do I take any notice?

‘How dare you talk to me about bitter!’ Janice sounded so raw and angry that Lana immediately returned to her seat at the table. ‘How could I expect you, or anyone, to understand?’ Janice continued through gritted teeth. ‘He was living a lie.’ Her voice rose. ‘It’d been going on nearly a year – right under my nose.’ She paused, and Lana saw the dark eyes flash with fury. ‘So just when I’m enjoying a bit of peace and trying to come to terms with a divorce, you turn up, and I’m told to welcome someone I don’t know – never set eyes on. I’m used to living on my own … having things the way I want.’ She shot up from her chair. ‘And as far as meeting anyone else, you can forget it. I’ve had it up to here with men.’ She drew a finger across her throat. ‘And I don’t intend making that mistake again.’

Lana washed the dishes on her own, and then excused herself, saying she was tired from the journey. It was a relief to read her book, and then settle in for an early night. It was quite true. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. Bingham school was certainly giving her plenty to think about.

Chapter Seven

Lana awoke early. Where was she? Peeling flowered wallpaper surrounded her. And the cheap furniture with bubbling grain wasn’t hers. Light was filtering through from somewhere behind her head and what seemed only a few feet away she could hear loud snoring. And then she remembered. She was in one of the bedrooms in the cottage in the grounds of Bingham school. And the snorer across the landing was Janice.

She jerked upright and swung her long legs out of bed. Her watch showed half past five. She could easily have another hour but she was going to be first into the bathroom to beat Janice.

By the time Lana had washed and dressed and discovered some porridge oats, she heard footsteps above, pacing up and down. Perhaps Janice was desperately trying to work out how she was going to accept sharing. Lana struck a match and lit the gas ring, then stirred the thickening mixture with a battered wooden spoon. When it was ready she popped the lid on and called up the stairs.

‘Janice. I’ve made some porridge.’

Silence. After a few seconds a voice answered, ‘Don’t eat the stuff.’ Janice’s dark head appeared. ‘I don’t have anything to eat until dinnertime.’

‘Well, at least have a cup of tea.’ Lana bit back her irritation.

‘All right. Be down in a minute.’

Lana had finished her porridge by the time Janice appeared. She did at least sit down and drink her tea.

‘I wanted to ask something,’ Lana said.

‘Long as it’s not personal,’ Janice answered immediately.

‘No, it’s not. It’s about Priscilla. Do you teach her?’

‘Yes. History and geography, but it’s hard going,’ Janice said, gulping the rest of her tea.

‘In what way?’

‘She can’t concentrate.’

‘I’m not surprised when she’s lost her parents so suddenly.’

‘I think the best way is to ignore the fact,’ Janice said, without a scrap of emotion. Lana’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh, I know that sounds harsh,’ Janice went on hurriedly, ‘but I think the more she’s reminded by people feeling sorry for her, the longer she’ll take to get over it.’

Lana didn’t agree at all, but she could see it wasn’t worth arguing with the woman.

‘I understand she’s now living at Dr Barnardo’s.’

‘That’s right,’ Janice said. ‘She used to be very good at most subjects at her grammar school, but now she doesn’t bother to finish her homework – sometimes doesn’t do any at all – and won’t take part when we ask questions. But give it time.’ Janice looked directly at Lana and gave one of her mocking smiles. ‘As you told me yesterday – time is the great healer.’

Lana flushed. ‘I didn’t actually use those words.’

‘Maybe not, but the sentiment’s the same.’

Lana bit her lip. No, she couldn’t live with Janice, hearing her chipping away with bitterness day after day. Couldn’t she see she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered in this bloody awful war? The woman hadn’t asked her one thing about herself or why she’d moved from York to Liverpool. Janice obviously wasn’t at all interested in anyone except Janice. Janice, the hard-done-by; Janice who couldn’t see how well off she was, living in a sweet little cottage – well, it would be if she’d clean and tidy it up now and again – and having one of the most rewarding jobs in the world. Well, she couldn’t stop here for the sake of one child and be at the mercy of Janice Parkes.

‘Anyway, you’ll have your house back to yourself in a couple of hours,’ Lana said.

‘What do you mean?’

She had Janice’s full attention now.

‘I’m not going to stay here.’

‘What?’

Lana met Janice’s dark eyes, wide now with curiosity. ‘I’m not going to take up the position of headmistress.’

‘Why ever not? You’ve presumably got the experience.’

‘But not the desire,’ Lana said. ‘I haven’t felt comfortable right from the start. Even on my interview, I wasn’t made welcome by the woman in the office.’

‘Mrs Danvers?’ Janice raised an eyebrow.

‘Is that her real name?’

‘No, it’s Dayton. But we call her Danvers. Mr Benton was a pain in the neck at the best of times, but he couldn’t do anything wrong in Mrs Dayton’s eyes – she doted on him. Just like Mrs Danvers with that spoilt brat, Rebecca.’ Janice curled her lip. ‘Did you see that film?’

Lana nodded.

‘I can’t believe you took any notice of a secretary,’ Janice droned on. ‘She couldn’t have changed your mind.’

Best not to say anything, Lana decided.

‘You don’t mean me?’ Janice practically thumped herself in the chest. ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ She shot to her feet. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you can’t live in the cottage because it’s a bit untidy.’

‘A bit?’ Lana exclaimed, thoroughly annoyed. ‘I can’t move two steps before I’m tripping over all your rubbish. This would be my home too, like it or not, so it’s best I go now than drag out the misery.’ She frowned. ‘You know, I could probably accept the state of the place and even help get it shipshape, but I’m not prepared to share a house with such a bitter woman.’ She met Janice’s neutral expression with her own glare. ‘Funnily enough, Janice, I’ve got my own problems – not that you’d be interested.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘So we’ll call it a day, shall we?’

‘Fine by me,’ Janice said, ignoring the hand, and making for the door. ‘I’m sure Mrs Danvers will order you a taxi.’ She turned to face Lana before leaving, two bright spots of colour appearing high on her cheeks. ‘At least I’m not a quitter. At least I’m still here trying to help the children and come to terms with my own rotten stinking existence. So good luck to you.’

With that, Janice marched out.

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Lana went upstairs. Her suitcase was only half unpacked. If she was honest, she was disappointed in herself for not giving it a chance, but Janice was impossible, and the cottage was not only overflowing with Janice’s clutter but it was also dingy to the point of being downright dirty. It would never have worked. She flung her book on the top of her clothes, pulled the lid down firmly to shut the two catches, and looked round to make sure she hadn’t left anything. Breathing a sigh of relief she walked down the stairs and out of the door.

Back at the school, quiet now the pupils were in class, she glimpsed ‘Mrs Danvers’ behind the glass screen in the office, clattering away on her typewriter. Lana set down her suitcase and was just about to tap on the window when she recognised Priscilla rushing through the entrance, a look of determination on her face.

‘I need to speak to Mrs Dayton.’ Priscilla panted as she practically pushed in front of Lana.

Lana nodded, pleased the woman hadn’t spotted her. It might be interesting to stay and watch how the secretary dealt with whatever was on the young girl’s mind.

Priscilla rapped on the screen and Lana saw there was blood on her hands. She was about to step forward and ask her what had happened when Mrs Danvers – Lana couldn’t think of her by any other name since Janice had named her so – appeared at the other side and lifted the hatch.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Priscilla said, her breath coming in gasps, ‘but there was a cat. It’d been hit by a car and I had to go and fetch the vet.’

‘You always find some excuse or another,’ Mrs Danvers said in a cross tone. ‘The other children manage to get here on time.’

‘They live in the village,’ the girl protested. ‘I come further … and I would’ve been here on time if it hadn’t been for the cat.’

Mrs Danvers pursed her lips that had turned white round the edges. ‘You disrupt the class every morning with your late arrival. We’re having too many complaints about you. I’m going to have to speak to—’

‘To me?’ Lana gently put Priscilla aside as she bent through the opening and put on her professional smile. ‘Miss Ashwin … the new headmistress.’

Mrs Danvers’ eyes widened and Lana saw her neck redden with annoyance. ‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’

‘Well, there’s no need to worry any further. I’ll have a word with her.’ Lana turned to Priscilla. ‘Can you show me an empty room?’

Priscilla’s grey eyes gleamed. She nodded.

‘But first you need to wash your hands.’

Priscilla led her along a corridor to the end where there was a gym. Lana looked at the climbing rope, remembering how she’d fallen once as a child and broken her ankle. There was a ‘horse’ in the middle of the room and a pole ready for netball practice at one side. Metal chairs were lined up against one wall.

‘No one will be here until after break,’ Priscilla said, as they each took a chair.

‘Good.’ Lana gave the girl an encouraging smile. ‘Now tell me what’s going on. You seem to have a problem getting to school on time.’

Priscilla reached for one of her long blonde pigtails and brought it to the front, twisting the end round and round.

‘It’s not my fault,’ she said eventually. ‘And this morning I had to stop and help the cat.’

‘Did you pick it up?’

‘He was bleeding ever so much from his back leg. I wanted to get him onto the side away from any traffic, but he kept growling. I think he was just frightened, so I ran straight to the vet’s and he came back with me with a towel and picked him up with no trouble at all. He said I’d saved his life.’ She looked up at Lana, her eyes anxious.

‘An emergency disrupts the normal routine, but you did the right thing.’ She briefly touched Priscilla’s arm in sympathy. ‘But let’s start at the beginning,’ she said. ‘You’re living at Bingham Hall at the moment, aren’t you?’

Priscilla hung her head.

‘Priscilla?’

‘Yes, but it’s not my proper home.’

Lana raised her eyebrows.

‘It’s just for the time being,’ Priscilla explained. ‘Mum and Dad are away at the moment.’ She looked at Lana through misty eyes. ‘But they’re coming back for me soon.’

Lana didn’t know what to say. Priscilla was perfectly old enough to know how her parents had been killed. But the child was denying the truth.

‘Sometimes I start off late because I help some of the younger ones to dress,’ Priscilla went on. ‘And then I get into trouble for going into class when it’s already started. Miss Booth is always understanding, but Mrs Dayton used to report me to the headmaster.’ She burst into tears. ‘I’m glad he’s gone. He was horrible.’ She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose.

She began to cry again and Lana put her arm around the child’s slender shoulders. This was worse than she’d imagined. Priscilla really thought her parents were coming back for her. Her mind raced, wondering how to deal with the situation. Was it too soon to remind Priscilla that her parents were never coming back? It wasn’t doing her any good living in a dream when there was no possibility of it coming true.

‘Well, you’re safe at Bingham Hall for now,’ Lana said feebly.

‘But when we win the war they’ll come and fetch me, won’t they?’ Priscilla’s eyes were anxious. She put her finger to her mouth and chewed a nail.

‘I don’t know the full story,’ Lana said, noticing all Priscilla’s nails were bitten to the quick. She’d have to do something about that, but first things first. ‘For now I’m going to take you back to class. Which one are you in?’

‘Geography.’

Lana’s heart sank. Janice’s.

‘Let’s put the chairs back then,’ Lana said, undoing her raincoat. ‘I’ll leave my things here for the moment.’ She eased her case into a corner with her foot and threw her coat over the top.

Janice’s mouth fell open as Lana strode in to the geography class without her raincoat or suitcase, Priscilla a step behind. The teacher quickly recovered herself and gestured to the children to remain seated, then silently pointed to Priscilla’s desk at the side. The child hurried over and slid behind it as Lana went over to Janice.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said quietly, ‘but Priscilla rescued an injured cat.’

‘I’ll speak to her after class.’

‘There’s no need,’ Lana said, ignoring the flash of anger in Janice’s piercing brown eyes. ‘I already have. But we’ve disturbed you enough.’ She smiled encouragingly at Priscilla who didn’t meet her eye.

Lana returned to the gym and collected her raincoat and case, then walked back to the cottage. Mr Shepherd had given her today to settle in, so she didn’t have to be anywhere particular until tomorrow. She smiled to herself. She knew how she was going to spend the rest of her day.

Chapter Eight

Lana was exhausted but very satisfied. The cottage gleamed. She hadn’t known what to do with some of the piles, but half of the stuff was now in Janice’s bedroom, stacked as neatly as she could. She’d just finished laying the table for supper when she heard the front door open.

Janice must have gone in the sitting room to dump her coat as usual. All was deathly quiet. After a couple of minutes Lana heard the dining room door close. Then a shadow fell at the kitchen door.

‘You decided to come back, then?’ Janice came in slamming the door behind her and sat down at the kitchen table.

‘I think it was the word “quitter” that annoyed me,’ Lana retorted.

‘Nothing to do with Priscilla, then?’

‘Oh, yes, Priscilla was partly to blame because she needs help … anyway, here I am.’

‘Mmm.’ Janice cast her eyes round the kitchen. ‘I see you’ve tidied up a bit.’

‘I wouldn’t say “tidied” was accurate. More like a Herculean effort. But I had nothing else on the list for today.’

‘Just as long as you don’t throw your weight around,’ Janice said, ‘and start nagging.’

‘I shall do just that if you don’t blooming well keep it straight – and clean it sometimes.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly compete with you. You’ve done it so well.’ There was a sarcastic edge to Janice’s tone, which Lana ignored.

‘I hate cleaning, but I hate living in a mess more,’ Lana said. ‘And by the way, I can cook but I refuse to do all of it.’

‘I’m not that interested in food, but I’ll give it a try.’

‘Don’t force yourself,’ Lana said lightly.

The two women ate their meal in silence.

‘Are you sure Cook didn’t make this?’ Janice said, soaking up the last of the cheese sauce with a piece of bread, and popping it into her mouth.

‘All by my own fair hands.’ Lana held them out, palms upward, for Janice to inspect.

‘Hm. Those lily-whites don’t look as though they’ve scrubbed down too many front doorsteps.’

‘I’m not afraid of hard work,’ Lana said, annoyed at Janice’s perpetual sarcasm. ‘I’ve certainly done more than my share today on the cottage.’

Janice’s tight mouth told her not to pursue the subject.

After they’d finished the macaroni cheese and baked apple, Janice sat back in her chair, a look of satisfaction flitting across her narrow face.

‘I think I enjoyed that meal better than any for a long time,’ she said.

‘You’re only saying that to encourage me to continue cooking,’ Lana said, relaxing a little. ‘I think I’m getting to know you now.’

‘What, after only a day?’ Janice leaned forward. ‘Tell me the truth. What happened to bring you back? The last I heard was that you were leaving.’

‘Your Mrs Danvers was quite horrid to Priscilla when she arrived late and she threatened to report her. The child was almost in tears when her only crime was to rescue a cat. The woman didn’t see me until I made myself known and said I’d deal with it.’ She paused. ‘I don’t like her.’

‘None of us do. But she’s been here for donkey’s years and thinks she runs it.’

‘I’m going to keep a close watch on her and if I find she’s being unpleasant to the children I shall take it further.’

‘It would serve the old bat right.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Just one thing, Lana.’

Lana wondered what was coming. She braced herself.

‘Thanks for doing the cottage. It looks a bloody treat.’

Lana gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. ‘Long as you keep it looking that way,’ she said.

The rest of the evening passed in more or less friendly conversation. Janice told her a bit about Wendy Booth.

‘Nice woman. Engaged to be married, poor dear.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘No, I don’t need to. Don’t trust any of ’em.’ Janice pulled a face. ‘He’s in the Merchant Navy – that’s all I know. She doesn’t see him for months on end.’

A cold chill slid down Lana’s spine. But this sailor was alive, whoever he was, and Dickie was dead. She felt Janice’s curious gaze.

‘What about your love life? Have you got a bloke hidden somewhere?’ Janice asked.

‘Not really,’ Lana said, her eyes pricking. ‘Look, Janice, I’ve enjoyed the evening and I don’t want to sound rude, but it’s been quite a day, so I think I’ll turn in early. Do you mind?’

‘Suits me,’ Janice said, her lips tightly pulled.

‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

Janice simply nodded.

After cleaning her teeth, Lana drew the blackout curtains. She’d laid out her nightdress earlier so she slipped it on and climbed into bed. It was still only just gone nine but the room was cold. She would read for a few minutes in the dim bedside light. Tomorrow was going to be a day to reckon with.

She sat against the pillow, the iron bedhead digging into her shoulders, her book propped up against her bent knees, but couldn’t settle to read. Her mind was too busy thinking about Janice. She’d felt the teacher’s resentment loud and clear but had been shocked at what she’d had to go through, hearing her husband tell her to her face he’d fallen in love with another woman. Janice was attractive with her dark hair and dark brown eyes, but she obviously hadn’t laughed much lately. Lana had the distinct feeling that Janice didn’t normally go into the kind of detail she’d poured out yesterday evening to most people.

But Janice had been better company after she’d disclosed the reason why she’d been so upset to share what she’d thought of as her cottage. Lana wished she’d been brave enough to tell her about Dickie. It would have been a relief to talk to a stranger about him.

To stop herself from wallowing in self-pity she opened her book and bent her head to focus on the print, but the words blurred one into the other and she yawned again. This time she felt herself drifting …

Lana was up and dressed and had eaten her breakfast before Janice came downstairs, bleary-eyed.

‘There’s tea in the pot,’ Lana told her.

‘I feel as though I’ve spent the night boozing,’ Janice said, rubbing her eyes. ‘Don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

‘Maybe if you had something to eat in the mornings you’d feel better,’ Lana said briskly. ‘There’s a little porridge left over. I was going to give it to the birds.’

‘They’re welcome to it.’ Janice pulled a face. ‘But tea’d be nice.’

‘I’m off then – first day.’ Lana tried to keep any apprehension from her voice, but Janice gave her a sharp look.

‘One bit of bad news,’ she said. ‘Mrs Danvers will have to show you where everything is as Wendy and Joan Ford and I have classes first thing. I don’t think you’ve met Joan. She teaches the younger ones.’

‘I can cope with Mrs Danvers,’ Lana said. ‘You should see the kind of headmaster I came up against at my last school.’

‘Do you mean you were a teacher like Wendy and me?’ Janice demanded.

Lana nodded, furious with herself for letting that piece of information slip out.

‘So you’ve not had any experience as a headmistress?’

‘Not exactly,’ Lana admitted. ‘But I’ve been in teaching all my working life and—’

‘So’ve I,’ Janice interrupted, ‘but they turned down my application.’ There was deep resentment in her tone.

Oh, not another thing for Janice to get worked up about.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lana said, meaning it.

‘Not your fault,’ Janice said, her brow furrowing. ‘I bet it’s because I’m soon to be a divorced woman bringing shame to the school. I suppose I’m lucky they didn’t get rid of me.’ Janice gulped down the rest of her tea and rose to her feet. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get ready to face another day. Good luck, Lana. I’ll be interested to hear how you get on.’

Mrs Dayton looked up from her typewriter as Lana opened the office door and strode in.

‘Oh, it’s you.’

Lana fought down the bubble of anger at such rudeness. She pasted a professional smile on her face.

‘Good morning, Mrs Danvers.’ Lana hesitated for a theatrical moment, then said in a mortified voice, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Mrs Dayton, of course.’

The woman threw her a look that was supposed to have turned her to stone, but Lana didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, she continued in an extra pleasant voice: ‘I know you must be busy but I wonder if you can spare me half an hour to show me my office, and where things are generally – keys and such.’

Mrs Dayton gave her a pitying look.

‘Your office,’ she said, mockingly. ‘You will be sharing my office.’ She jerked her head towards the second desk, pushed tight into a corner.

‘Is that where the previous headmaster sat?’ Lana asked with an innocent expression.

‘Of course not,’ the woman snapped. ‘His office is through there.’ This time she jerked her head towards a closed door. ‘And he’ll be coming back once this war is over.’

‘But until that time it will be my office while I’m taking his place,’ Lana said firmly, with a smile she was far from feeling. Aware of the woman’s malevolent eyes on her, she marched over to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She turned. ‘May I please have the key, Mrs Dayton?’

‘Mr Benton specifically asked me to keep it locked at all times.’

‘The key.’ Lana held out her hand, palm upwards.

Pursing her lips, Mrs Dayton opened a drawer and took her time looking for it. Finally, she handed it to Lana without a word.

‘Thank you.’ Lana looked towards the files on Mrs Dayton’s desk. ‘I think I’ll find my way round Mr Benton’s office and leave you to get on. Perhaps after lunch you’ll show me what you’re working on – explain exactly what your rôle is.’

‘I am his personal secretary,’ Mrs Dayton said, leaving a gap between every word.

‘That’s very good news,’ Lana said, smiling. ‘I’ll be depending upon you to do the same for me.’

One – nil to me, Lana thought, as she unlocked the door with a tremulous hand, thankful Mrs Dayton couldn’t see it. She mustn’t show any sign of weakness. She shut the door behind her and walked over to Mr Benton’s desk. He was a methodical man by the look of it; nothing on it except a telephone, an ashtray, a lined pad and a few pencils in a holder.

She spent the next hour checking the records for the number of children who attended: sixty-three in total, according to the cards in the index card drawer. She made a mental note to read through each one giving brief information on age, date of birth, subjects studied, et cetera before the week was out. Their school reports must be kept in a separate file, she thought, searching in another drawer. Yes, here they were. She removed half a dozen files and opened one. It was Priscilla’s, from her previous school, The Liverpool College for Girls, dated 10th January 1943.

Priscilla Morgan, b. 21st March 1931.

The Liverpool address had been crossed out and a new one inserted: Bingham Hall, Bingham, Liverpool.

Subjects: Arithmetic, English, Scripture, Geography, History, Art, Needlework.

Priscilla can speak a little German, taught to her by her aunt whose husband was German. Both subsequently lost their lives in the Liverpool Blitz in August 1940. Priscilla particularly enjoys literature and has played the lead twice in school plays with great aplomb.

Priscilla understandably has difficulty with her school work since her parents sadly were killed in January 1943. It is recommended that she attends Bingham school to sit the last year again, now that she will be living at Dr Barnardo’s orphanage, Bingham Hall.

Once she is able to come to terms with her bereavement, and with her determination, I am sure she will do very well in the future.

Freda Daunton (Miss)

Headmistress

Poor Priscilla. How humiliating for her. Lana skimmed the report again and grimaced when she read that Priscilla could speak some German. She hated the idea of British children learning that language. But it would be useful if Britain lost the war— She brought herself up sharply. How could she possibly think like that? Of course they were going to win. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Dayton walked straight in and handed her a sheet of paper.

‘You’ll be needing this,’ she said. ‘Your timetable for the term.’ With that, she spun on her heel and was about to leave when Lana stopped her.

‘Mrs Dayton? One moment, please.’

‘Yes.’ The woman still had her back to her.

‘It might be easier if you could face me.’

Mrs Dayton turned, a scowl on her heavy features.

‘In future, would you please knock and wait for me to tell you to enter,’ Lana said crisply, but her heart was beating hard. It was going to take all her grit to be a match for the woman and show her right away who was boss, however nervous she felt inside. She pulled herself up straighter in Mr Benton’s black leather swivel chair. Somehow sitting at his desk gave her a modicum of confidence, and she couldn’t help a wry smile as she looked directly in Mrs Dayton’s eyes. ‘You see, Mrs Dayton, it might not always be convenient for you to walk straight in.’

‘Very well.’

Lana was rewarded by a hard stare from cold dark eyes, but at least this time the woman marched out, slamming the door behind her.

Lana shrugged. No wonder the teachers called her Mrs Danvers. If there was any trouble she was sure it would come from her direction. Sighing, she glanced at the teachers’ timetable. Good. Her first class in English would be the first period after dinner – two o’clock.

She busied herself in the office, studying the curriculum and preparing for her English class. It seemed they were mostly ten- and eleven-year-olds, and as Mr Shepherd had warned her, Priscilla would also attend. They were reading Great Expectations. From what she now knew of the child, at least Priscilla would shine in that class.

Lana was at her desk in the class well before the children filed in at two o’clock. Mentally she counted them. Thirty-two. She smiled.

‘Good afternoon, children. I’m your new English teacher, Miss Ashwin.’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Ash-win,’ they chimed.

Lana noticed Priscilla was in her place at the side, mouthing the words.

‘You may be seated.’ There was a scrambling and scraping of chairs. Lana waited until they were still. ‘What I’d like you to do is to stand up, one at a time, and tell me your name and I’ll repeat it, so I can get to know you all.’ She glanced at a child on the end of the first row, and nodded.

A thin girl got to her feet. ‘Jennifer Sands.’

The child had difficulty saying her “s’s” and a boy sitting close to her sniggered. She’d have a word with him later.

One by one they stood up and stated their names. Priscilla, sitting on the side, was last.

‘Priscilla Morgan.’ She looked round the class silently, warning anyone not to disagree. ‘And I don’t like being called “Pris” or “Prissy”.’

‘Thank you, Priscilla, and thank you to the rest of the class. Now turn to your books. I believe you’re reading Great Expectations.’

‘We’re not reading it.’ A tall boy with challenging eyes shot his hand up. ‘Mr Benton used to read it to us as if we’re all babies.’

‘I see.’ Lana drew in a breath. She was on home ground now. ‘Gregory?’

‘I’m Greg, Miss.’

Lana nodded. ‘Greg, would you tell us where you’ve got to?’

Greg flipped over the pages and ran his finger along one of the paragraphs, miming the words.

‘Page twenty-eight.’

‘Good.’ Lana looked at him. ‘You can have the part of the convict. Now who would like to play Pip?’

She quickly gave out a half-dozen parts to the children who volunteered by raising their hands. Lana noted Priscilla sat as though in a world of her own, but she was sure the girl was taking everything in.

‘I’ll read the narrative,’ Lana said. ‘Any questions before we start?

‘What’s “narrative” mean?’ a child from the back of the class called out.

‘Anybody know?’ Lana scaled the room. To her delight Priscilla raised her arm.

‘The bits in between people talking,’ she said.

Lana smiled. ‘Well put.’ She paused, taking in the children’s response. ‘Do you all understand?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ they chorused.

‘I don’t mind reading the narrative,’ Paul, a tall, red-headed boy volunteered.

‘Excellent. Perhaps you’d like to start us off, then.’

On the whole they were fairly capable readers, though most of them put little expression in their voices. Except one child who read his part as though he was acting on the stage. She couldn’t help but hide a smile. She remembered his name was Robin. His reading was excellent. When she came to write a school play for the children to act, he’d be a good choice for one of the main parts.

She was absorbed in the children’s contributions but kept her eye open for anyone not taking a speaking part who wasn’t following the story. There was always one. To her disappointment it was Priscilla. She was looking towards the window, then must have caught Lana looking at her, as she turned back with that same expression of despair Lana had noticed when she’d first set eyes on the girl during the interview with Mr Shepherd. She was suddenly anxious for the child. There was no time to lose. She had to talk to her after the lesson.

By the end of the hour the children had become far more enthusiastic about Charles Dickens’s novel and if it hadn’t been for Priscilla looking so sad, Lana felt her first teaching hour in the new school was a success.

‘Priscilla, can you please wait behind?’

The girl looked startled, but nodded. She came up to Lana’s desk as the children filed out of the room, one or two looking back to see what ‘Miss’ wanted with the strange older child in their class.

‘What is your next class?’ Lana asked.

‘Needlework.’

‘With Miss Booth?’

‘Yes,’ Priscilla replied, her lower lip trembling. ‘I hate needlework.’

‘So do I,’ Lana said with feeling. ‘We’ll go to an empty classroom, but stay here and wait for me while I tell Miss Booth where you are.’

‘Do you really hate needlework?’ Priscilla asked when they were back in the empty classroom. She looked at Lana, doubt in her eyes.

‘Yes. I once had to make an apron. I was no good at it and the teacher told me my stitches were too big and that I’d never make a seamstress.’ She looked at Priscilla and grinned. ‘I never told her it was the last thing I wanted to do. But I wish I could tell her now that I’ve improved a lot since the war started.’

Priscilla rewarded her with a slight smile.

‘Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to,’ Lana continued, hearing her grandmother’s voice, ‘because when we grow up there’ll be all kinds of things we don’t like. But in order to get on in the world we have to grit our teeth and do them anyway.’ Should she go on? Priscilla seemed to be listening. ‘I noticed you weren’t really enjoying the English class today.’

‘I can’t think of anything except when Mummy and Daddy are coming for me.’ Priscilla eyes were wet as she pulled her pigtail. ‘I try to learn everything in class but I can’t. When they take me home, I promise to get better marks.’

Lana had to make a start.

‘Priscilla, dear,’ she said gently, ‘they were killed by a motorcar in the blackout. The driver couldn’t put his lights on because of the regulations. It was an accident. Nobody’s fault, but they’re not coming back. Not ever. I’m so very sorry.’

Dear God, she’d said it.

Priscilla gave her a pained look, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘Of course they are, Miss Ashwin. I don’t know the exact date – that’s all.’

‘Priscilla, listen to me.’ Lana took the trembling child in her arms. ‘It’s terribly difficult to take in, but you must believe me.’

Priscilla sniffed hard, but firmly extricated herself.

‘May I please be excused?’ she asked, jumping up. She was out of the door before Lana could open her mouth.

Lana followed, walking slowly, the gap widening between her and the hurrying child, as she returned to her office, wondering what step she should take next.

Chapter Nine

Back in her office the telephone interrupted her train of thought. She picked up the receiver and Mrs Dayton’s voice said, ‘Will you take a call from Mrs Taylor, the matron at Bingham Hall?’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Please put her through.’ There was a pause. ‘Lana Ashwin speaking,’ she said.

‘Ah, good. I’ve got you,’ a pleasant female voice came on. ‘It’s Maxine Taylor, the matron just up the road from you. You’ve probably been told about Bingham Hall, the Dr Barnardo’s orphanage. The woman in the office said as it was your first day she didn’t want to disturb you. But I rarely take no for an answer.’

That damnable woman. Lana bit her lip in annoyance.

‘It is my first day,’ she said, ‘but I expect it to be a normal day, and I certainly don’t consider anyone an interruption if they need to speak to me. What can I do for you, Mrs Taylor?’

‘We’re planning to have a maypole dance on May Day for the children, and I wondered if you and the teachers and any of your pupils would like to come along. I thought it would be easier to speak to you first.’

Lana glanced at the desk calendar and flipped the page over to May. ‘Ah, it’s a Saturday,’ she said, ‘so no school.’ She paused. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

‘Not at all,’ came the brisk but friendly tones. ‘I don’t think the children here have mixed much with the village school children but I think they should. Otherwise, they’re going to view themselves as “different” for the rest of their lives – which isn’t healthy, in my opinion.’

‘I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ Lana said with sincerity. ‘I’d like to talk it over with the teachers first, so may I come back to you in a few days?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Lana hesitated. ‘Before you go, Mrs Taylor, there’s something I’d like to ask you. It’s about Priscilla Morgan.’

There was a pause at the other end. ‘Ah, Priscilla. She hasn’t been with us long. A very sad case.’

‘Yes. The worrying thing is that she can’t come to terms with the accident. Both parents gone at once and she’s lost her home as well. She told me she’s waiting for them to come and fetch her. I tried to tell her as gently as I could that they were never coming back, but she was terribly upset and rushed off. It must be dreadful for her and I’m not sure how I can help. I wondered how she was coping at the orphanage.’

‘She’s very quiet and very good,’ Mrs Taylor said. ‘Too good. It’s not natural. I’ve tried to talk to her – we all have – but she won’t listen. We’re hoping time will be the healer.’

Lana bit her lip. It was well over a year since she’d lost Dickie and the ache was as strong as ever. But they were discussing Priscilla.

‘It might be a good idea for us to have a proper chat after the maypole dance,’ Mrs Taylor said. ‘Another month will have passed and we can assess the situation. How does she seem with the other children in class?’

‘She sits away from the others in her own world, mostly staring out of the window. Neither she nor the rest of the children take any notice of one another.’

‘I wonder if she should see a doctor,’ the matron said in a thoughtful tone. ‘I must admit I’m as worried as you, especially as she’s still eating very little at supper. What about dinnertime at the school? Does she—’

There was a loud crackling on the line and Lana couldn’t hear the matron’s next words.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch—’

The line went dead. Lana thought of asking Mrs Danvers to reconnect her but couldn’t face the secretary’s sneering tone, as though she couldn’t even take a simple telephone call.

She spent the next two hours sick with guilt, wishing with all her heart she hadn’t upset Priscilla. She should have got to know her better, gained her trust. Suddenly it had become unbearably stuffy in her office. She switched off the two electric bars of the heater and threw on her jacket. A brisk walk would clear her head.

Before the week was out Lana felt at home at Bingham school. In the main, the children were good, though the boys were somewhat raucous when they thought they could get away with it, which had the effect of making the girls quieter. Except Josephine, a cheeky ten-year-old. She interrupted whenever she felt like it. More than once Lana noticed Priscilla frowning at yet another interruption.

‘Please put your hand up if you want to ask or answer a question,’ Lana said to Josephine. ‘Other children want to ask questions besides you.’

The girl immediately swung both arms in the air. Another child who craved attention.

‘Only one hand is necessary,’ Lana said. ‘Keep the question in your head and I’ll come back to you. I believe Martin put his hand up before you.’

She nodded to Martin, but before he could open his mouth, Josephine said, ‘No, I put my hand up first, Miss …’

‘You will await your turn, Jennifer. And you will address me by my name.’

‘I’ve forgotten it.’ Jennifer’s tone was triumphant as she looked round at the class for approbation.

Fuming, Lana beckoned Josephine up to her desk to a class of sniggering children. She turned to the child.

‘Now, Josephine. Perhaps you would like to tell the class that you have a very poor memory and have already forgotten my name. And after class you will write my name out fifty times on your slate before you go home. And I have two more slates you can use as extras so there is no excuse the lines won’t all fit.’

Josephine tapped her shoe up and down as she boldly surveyed Lana.

‘Shall I remind you of my name?’ Lana said evenly.

The child hesitated as though about to say something insolent, but decided against it. ‘No, Miss.’

‘Then would you like to remind the class in case anyone else has forgotten?’

‘It’s Miss Ashwin.’ Josephine’s chest rose with her breath. ‘MISS ASHWIN!’ Her voice rose to a shout as she faced the class.

Giggles from the girls and more sniggers from the boys.

‘Very well,’ Lana said, putting a piece of chalk down by the blackboard. ‘That’s enough. You may go back to your seat. And I don’t want to hear another word from you until class tomorrow.’

Josephine made her way to her desk, then glared at Lana.

‘You never tell her off.’ The child pointed to Priscilla. ‘Prissy gets away with everything. She doesn’t do her homework and she can’t keep up with us in class even though she’s older than us. No one likes her here.’

There was a deathly hush. And then a loud scraping of a chair by the window. Before she had time to stop her, Priscilla had sprung up, grabbed her satchel and rushed out of the room.

‘I hope you’re satisfied now, Josephine,’ Lana said. ‘You will stay behind and explain yourself before you do your lines.’ She threw a glance around the room. ‘We’re finished for the day, children. You may go.’ She waited until the children had disappeared and only Josephine was left, standing sulkily beside the desk.

‘Sit down in one of the front seats,’ Lana said, taking her chair and moving it nearer to Josephine. It was easier not having a desk as a barrier between them, she thought.

‘Now, then. What made you speak in such an unkind way about another pupil?’

Josephine sniffed.

‘Have you a handkerchief?’

‘No, Miss.’

Lana dug in her bag and handed the girl a neatly folded one. She waited patiently. ‘Well, Josephine?’

‘No one likes Prissy, only no one’s brave enough to say it ’cept me.’

‘You mean Priscilla?’

‘We all call her Prissy because she’s such a fusspot. She tidies her desk after every lesson. We all know she’s stupid because she’s always bottom.’

‘No, she’s not stupid. She’s just a very sad little girl. And she needs help. I think you might be just the person.’

‘What do you mean? I don’t even like her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she thinks she’s better than us so she doesn’t speak to us. So we do the same.’

‘It’s not that at all,’ Lana said. ‘It’s because she’s embarrassed and angry with herself.’

‘Because she’s stupid.’

‘Don’t say that word again, please,’ Lana said sharply. ‘She’s not stupid.’ She looked at the girl. ‘Do you have a mother and father, Josephine?’

‘Course I do.’

‘Then you’re very lucky. One day Priscilla had her own bedroom at home and a loving mother and father. The next she was told they’d been killed in the blackout and she had to go and live at the orphanage down the road. It’s extremely difficult for her, and you and the others are making it worse by not speaking to her, or including her in your games. I want this to change.’ All this time Lana kept her focus on Josephine who looked shocked and upset at the same time. ‘Can you understand what I’m saying, Josephine?’

The girl hung her head.

‘Josephine?’

Josephine looked up, her eyes flashing. For a moment Lana thought she was going to rebel against her.

‘I didn’t know, Miss, about her mother and father.’

‘There’s a war on, Josephine,’ Lana said gently. ‘Anything can happen at any time to those we love. Do you think you can be kinder to her?’

Josephine nodded.

‘And Priscilla’s far from stupid. She’s a clever girl and I’m sure she would help you with your homework if you got stuck – especially your reading. Then maybe you can put your hand up for a part next time.’

Josephine’s face visibly brightened.

‘In the meantime,’ Lana continued, ‘tell her you will be her friend. Try to understand how she feels. Imagine it had happened to you and you’d lost your parents. You’d want to have a friend to talk to, wouldn’t you?’ Josephine nodded, keeping her eyes averted. ‘And the first way to show her you mean it is to tell her you’re very sorry for speaking the way you did.’

There was a silence. Lana could almost see Josephine weighing everything up. Finally, she said, ‘All right, Miss Ashwin. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.’

‘Just one more thing, Josephine. We’ll forget about writing out my name fifty times, but I’d like you to stand up in class tomorrow morning and tell the children what happened to Priscilla. I’ll make sure she’s not there. But tell them they must not mention it to her afterwards. She’d hate that. Just ask the others to include her – make friends with her. And above all, be kind.’ She paused to give time for her words to sink in. ‘What do you think?’

Josephine was looking at the floor. ‘I’ll do my best, Miss Ashwin,’ she muttered.

‘Your best is exactly what I’m looking for,’ Lana said softly.

Chapter Ten

Josephine carried out Lana’s instructions but it only resolved the problem in that particular class. Lana could see Priscilla’s mouth set as she went from one lesson to the next, not turning her head to look at anyone.

When Lana spoke to Janice about it one evening she realised the teacher hadn’t changed her mind at all.

‘Of course I won’t tolerate rudeness,’ Janice said, ‘but I just think we must give it time.’

‘I disagree,’ Lana said. ‘If we don’t come out in the open so Priscilla knows we all know and can feel our concern, I can’t see how she’s ever going to overcome this tragedy.’

‘Children are quite resilient,’ Janice said. ‘Priscilla’s quite strong underneath.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ She looked at Janice. ‘Oh, I had a telephone call from Mrs Taylor, the matron at the orphanage. She’s invited our children to join in with their May Day celebrations. They’re having a maypole and it sounded fun.’

‘It’s the first time we’ve been invited,’ Janice said, sounding surprised. ‘I suppose it’s because they had that awful matron who hated everyone. But they sacked her and employed a much younger one a while ago. I was told she’s having a baby so this Mrs Taylor must be taking over.’

‘She sounded awfully nice,’ Lana ventured. ‘What do you think?’

‘You’ll find most of the children will be at home with their families as it’s a Saturday,’ Janice said. ‘And I can’t see Wendy – or me, come to that – wanting to spend the day at Bingham Hall on our day off. One of us would have to be there to supervise our kids. And I’m not sure it’s a good idea anyway, suddenly mixing the two lots of children. It would be far better to let the orphans have their celebration on their own without any added strain of strange children they’re forced to play games with, particularly when it’s on their special day.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Lana said. ‘I didn’t think of it that way.’

In bed that night Lana mulled over what Janice had said. She had to admit there was a good deal of sense in it, yet she still felt it was a good idea to get both sets of children talking to one another, that it was more natural than to keep them separated all day, every day. But there was no harm in her wandering over to Bingham Hall on May Day. It would give her the chance to see how Priscilla was faring at the weekends. She would form a better picture of the child, and maybe Mrs Taylor might have some suggestions as to how to help the young girl.

Lana changed her mind once or twice as to whether she should venture over to Dr Barnardo’s on May Day. It would look strange turning up with no children in tow. She decided to write Maxine Taylor a letter explaining some of her concerns but that she’d be pleased to meet her if it was convenient on that day.

She received an answer two days later.

Dear Miss Ashwin,

Thank you for your letter and I perfectly understand. You may well be right about mixing the children together on May Day. Perhaps some other time when we have a concert or a play and we can invite some of the children from the school to be part of the audience.

That said, I would be delighted to meet you. As you said, it could be useful where Priscilla Morgan is concerned. So why don’t you wander over on May Day and see us in the afternoon, say 4 p.m. We should be packing up by then and more than ready for a tea break!

If it’s not convenient, give me a ring during the week and we’ll make a firm arrangement. No need to reply. We’ll see you when we see you.

Yours sincerely,

Maxine Taylor (Matron)

Chapter Eleven

Lana opened her bedroom curtains to a dull, drizzling first day of May. Not the best weather for dancing round the maypole. She quickly got ready and dressed in a dark pleated skirt and cream twinset. Gazing at her reflexion she wondered if it was too severe for a walk over to the orphanage to introduce herself to Maxine Taylor. The skirt swung around her knees as she turned this way and then the other. Oh, dear. She wasn’t sure. Did it make her look old before her time? With the rationing, her wardrobe was limited to clothes appropriate for a teacher, together with a couple of summer frocks and a Sunday best outfit. She shrugged. Most women were in the same boat.

She spent the morning marking children’s compositions, noting that Priscilla’s was a couple of pages of short, jerky sentences, with an occasional description of sudden brilliance. She was a child worth nurturing back to her full potential, Lana decided. She made herself a sandwich in the cottage, unusually quiet since Janice had gone to see her aunt for a couple of days. It was heaven to have the place to herself. She wouldn’t stay at the orphanage for long this afternoon. Time on her own was too precious and she wanted to make the most of every minute. Janice would be back tomorrow evening ready for school again on Monday, and then there’d be no more peace.

She sat and read a few chapters of her book, then looked at the clock. Quarter past three. Much too early. But she could start slowly walking, maybe having a wander round the gardens – see how Priscilla was getting on. It would be good to get some air. She rose to her feet and washed her cup and saucer, then collected her raincoat from the peg in the hall.

Lana enjoyed walking along the country lane admiring the trees now in leaf. In spite of the dull sky her heart lifted because she was actually here, beginning her new life. Yes, it was without Dickie, but she knew she’d be doing something important for the future – making sure the children were continuing their education no matter what Jerry threw at them. Dickie would have approved.

She came to a small neat sign: Bingham Hall. The orphanage.

Strolling up the drive, she passed a cottage on the left, which looked as though it was going through some major repairs, and a little further on she saw several tall chimneys cutting through the clouds. She blinked. Built of red brick the house had a turret to one side and a crenellated front, reminding her of a castle. She had to admit it was an imposing house – well, more of a mansion – probably built in early Victorian times, the same as the village school.

What would it be like to work there? Grim, she supposed. All those children, some of whose parents had probably been killed in the war, thrown together with no blood ties, maybe losing brothers and sisters as well. Lana was suddenly grateful to teach at a normal school. An orphanage could never represent ‘home’ to her.

She could hear an accordion playing and smiled. The children were obviously not letting the dreary rain put a dampener on their day. Screams of laughter became louder as she got nearer.

Another sound. The purr of an expensive-sounding engine behind her. She pressed her back into one of the lime trees to give room to a large black motorcar. It was moving slowly, crackling the gravel. Out of habit, as it drew parallel, she glanced inside. She was vaguely aware of two men in the back seat, but it was the blond-haired man in the front passenger seat, masking the driver, that caught her gaze. He was only a few feet away and she couldn’t help looking at him. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, his profile rigid. But she was struck by the power of his features: the well-shaped nose, the firm set of his jaw, and what she could see of his solemn mouth.

As though he felt her eyes upon him he turned to his left, and for long seconds he looked directly at her. Through her. His eyes were deep-set and she thought they were blue but she couldn’t be sure. A quiver ran along her spine. It was as though there was no rain-spotted window forming a barrier between them. He was more handsome than any man had a right to be. Telling herself not to be so silly, but more than a little embarrassed, she swung her gaze from his and fixed her eyes on the rear of the car. Yes, she was right. It was a Rolls. Her brothers hadn’t wasted their time teaching her to recognise all the makes and models for nothing. Oh, what she would give to be behind its wheel. But what was a top-class motorcar like that doing at an orphanage?

She shrugged. It was none of her business. She saw the two men emerge from the back of the Rolls-Royce and walk towards the entrance of the house, leaving the driver and his front passenger in the car.

Who were these men arriving in such a grand car? More specifically, who was the blond man? He must be someone important to have his own driver. Maybe he was a local dignitary, yet he didn’t look like a local man. Ah, perhaps he was a Dr Barnardo’s inspector, though surely either position wouldn’t warrant a driver and a Rolls.

Two young women appeared at the front door of the orphanage, the taller woman wearing a smart navy dress. Lana wondered if she might be Maxine Taylor. One of the men said something and the taller woman answered but Lana was too far away to hear the words. The man loped off and in the space of two minutes returned with the front passenger.

The blond man was exceptionally tall, even by her standards, and unusually he was hatless. The sun, out for the first time that day, glinted on his hair. He looked like someone in command with his confident stride. He glanced once towards the children dancing round the maypole. The accompanying man almost had to run to keep up. It would have been amusing at any other time, but there was something unnerving in the scene unfolding in front of her. After several moments the two women and three men disappeared into the house.

Lana strolled over to where the children were playing, trying to shake off the image of the man who looked different from anyone around here, thinking she might ask where Priscilla was. She watched the children for a few minutes. They certainly looked well cared for, but their expressions wore a kind of resilience – she couldn’t quite explain it, but it was as though they’d had to face more than most children, which of course was true. Maybe she was being fanciful, but she didn’t think so.

Two of the boys were watching her with open curiosity.

‘Are you a new teacher, Miss?’ one of them piped up. He looked to be about nine or ten with ginger hair.

Lana smiled. ‘I’m the new headmistress at the village school. I’ve come to meet some of you and Matron.’

‘She’s gone inside,’ the other boy said. ‘Some men came in that motor.’ He pointed. ‘It’s a Rolls-Royce,’ he added, the awe in his voice unmistakable. ‘Isn’t it smashing?’

‘Yes, it certainly is a beauty,’ Lana said with feeling. One day she’d have her own car, though maybe not a Rolls to start with, she thought, smiling to herself.

‘I’m having one of them when I’m grown up,’ the ginger-haired boy said, a determined expression fixed on his freckled face.

‘I’m sure you will if you want it badly enough.’

He nodded.

‘Have you seen Priscilla?’

‘No. She’s too toffee-nosed to play with us.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be,’ Lana said, surprised. ‘I think she’s shy.’

The boy grunted. ‘She was helping Cook last time I saw her.’ He and his friend shot her another look, then dashed off.

So long as Priscilla was well cared for, Lana thought, though it was a pity she hadn’t mixed with the others.

It was only a tentative arrangement to see Maxine Taylor at four o’clock, but already it was coming up to that time. The matron would be busy at the moment. She’d have to wait until the meeting, or whatever it was, was over and until then she’d wander round the gardens. No one seemed to be taking any notice as she walked over to the vegetable garden where the gardener had erected wigwams of beanpoles ready for planting runner beans. A boy, bent nearly in two, struggled with a tough-looking weed. A little brown dog watched the boy’s every move. The dog cocked his ear, then ran towards her, giving little whines of delight, his tail wagging excitedly. The boy stood up.

‘Freddie! Here, boy! Come here!’

Freddie stopped in his tracks and looked round, uncertain as to what he should do – welcome the newcomer or obey his master?

‘He’s all right,’ Lana called, swiftly closing the gap between them. ‘Good boy.’ She patted the dog’s silky head.

‘I have to keep watch on him,’ the boy said importantly. ‘He’s only allowed here if he behaves. He used to live here but he only comes to visit now.’

‘He’s just like most dogs when someone new comes along. He wants to be friends.’

The boy looked at her directly with very blue eyes. Lana took in a quick breath. There was something about him. As though she’d seen him before. But that was ridiculous. She didn’t know any of these children.

‘Well, I know Freddie’s name now, but I don’t know yours.’

The boy hesitated, and Lana had the feeling he didn’t want to answer. But finally he said, ‘Peter – Peter Best.’

‘That’s a good manly name.’ Lana smiled again, but the boy didn’t smile back.

He looked much too serious for a child who couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old. Dear oh dear, these children must all have the most awful stories to tell – the way they lost their parents. The very idea made her feel sick at heart.

‘I’ll leave you to the weeding,’ she said. ‘I do hope I’ll see you and Freddie again.’

Peter nodded but his expression was one of indifference.

Lana decided it would be better if she saw the matron at a quieter moment. But when she noticed a group of small girls playing ring-a-ring-o’roses on the lawn, and a dark-haired woman who she guessed was a teacher keeping an eye on them, she thought she’d wander over and say hello.

The woman turned her head at Lana’s approach.

‘Hello. I’m Lana Ashwin, the new headmistress at the village school.’ Lana extended her hand.

‘Dolores Honeywell. I’m fairly new here, too, and pleased to meet you.’ She smiled at Lana. ‘I saw you and wondered who you were.’

‘Mrs Taylor invited me over to meet some of the children,’ Lana said. ‘I was looking for Priscilla really.’

‘Well, there’s Matron.’ Miss Honeywell motioned towards the front door. ‘She’s with Mrs Andrews – or June, as she was known – who used to be the matron before she married, but I don’t know who that tall fair-haired man is.’ She paused. ‘Oh, he’s going over to the greenhouses. Wonder why. He doesn’t strike me as a gardener.’ Dolores Honeywell turned her attention back to the children.

Lana watched as the blond man walked slowly over to the vegetable plots where she’d left Peter and Freddie just a short while ago. She thought she heard someone whistling. From where she stood she couldn’t see the boy clearly, but she saw him standing very still, his back to the man. Then to her astonishment he whirled round and she heard him shout, ‘Papa!’ and hurl himself into the stranger’s arms.

Peter’s father?

The tall man held the boy tightly and kissed the top of his head. Lana couldn’t take her eyes off the two of them. Bingham Hall was an orphanage, yet it seemed as though Peter had unexpectedly been reunited with his father. She felt the tears prick and turned away, not wanting to encroach on their private moment.

This wasn’t at all the right time to speak to Maxine Taylor who’d probably had no idea at all that these gentlemen would be turning up when she’d suggested Lana go over to introduce herself around teatime. She’d leave quietly and telephone the matron in the morning to apologise and make a firm appointment next time.

She slipped amongst the trees lining the drive, the children’s shouts and squeals of laughter sounding far away now, and made her way back to the school, the image of the tall blond man gathering his son close to his chest still sharp in her mind. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and smiled to herself for being so sentimental, but somehow it was comforting to know that in this interminable cruel war, the scene that had unfolded in front of her looked as though it had all the elements of a happy ending.

But there was no happy ending for Priscilla, Lana thought sadly, as she turned the key to open the cottage door, imagining the young girl in her mind’s eye watching such a reunion.

Lana put the kettle on, feeling a little light-headed as she remembered the way the blond man’s eyes had held hers. Why had he made such an impact?

She drank her tea without tasting it.

Chapter Twelve
May Day – that night

‘Put the torch out!’ she hissed.

‘That’s no good. I can’t see a bleedin’ thing now.’ The youth switched the torch back on.

‘Well, put your hand over it.’

‘To hear you, you’d think Jerry was flyin’ overhead lookin’ down at us.’

‘You never know.’ The girl gave a nervous giggle.

The two of them crept up the drive, the gravel crackling underfoot at every step.

‘Go on, then, I dare you.’ She dug the youth in the ribs. ‘I’ll keep watch but they’ll all be asleep.’

The youth stretched his neck to assess the open window on the first floor of Bingham Hall. Then he twisted round to her. ‘Whadya bet?’

‘A shilling.’

‘Nah, it’s not werf it.’ He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his nose. ‘I dunno, though. Maybe it is. It’d buy a packet of fags.’

‘Go on, then.’ The girl’s eyes blazed with the intensity of her bet. ‘There’s a drainpipe next to the window.’

The youth nodded and shinned up it without making a sound. He stuck his hand in the gap and pushed the sash up to make enough space to crawl through.

‘You coming?’ His harsh voice reverberated around the walls of the building.

‘Shhhhhh!’ The girl put a finger to her lips. ‘Go in and unbolt the kitchen door near where I’m standing.’

The youth raised his thumb and disappeared through the opening. Two minutes later he had the door open and the girl slipped through like a shadow.

They were in.

‘Look at the size of this kitchen.’

‘That’s nothing,’ the girl said, taking his arm and leading him along a short corridor into the Great Hall.

‘Cor, this is something.’

The youth’s eyes almost swivelled in their sockets as he took in the vaulted ceiling, the massive stone fireplace, and the chandeliers and sconces, unlit now because of the blackout as well as the late hour. His eyes roamed the walls of oil paintings, mostly portraits, and what looked like hundreds of coats of arms, and the solid oak furniture. He turned to her and gave a low whistle.

‘The nobs know how to live, don’t they?’

The girl pulled a face. ‘They might’ve been nobs in them days but Lord Bingham and his family did a runner when the war started.’

‘Who told you that?’ The youth narrowed his eyes at her.

‘I used to work here, didn’t I?’ the girl said. ‘I got ears. You hear things when you work here.’

He threw a look of disbelief that she could have landed such a job.

‘Wot did you do?’

‘I looked after the special children,’ the girl said proudly as she led him along the corridor to the magnificent library. ‘Well, I did until that bitch nurse reported me.’

‘You weren’t crafty enough. You shouldda hung on to yer job.’ He stared at her. ‘Chance to pinch all kinds of stuff and they’d never notice.’ He stared at her. ‘What she report you about, anyways?’

‘I told them we got a Nazi kid amongst us and we should get rid of him.’

‘How d’ya know that?’

‘I saw a photo of his German pa in his uniform, didn’t I?’ A satisfied smirk curled her lips. ‘I might not be a clever clogs but I know a swastika when I see one. His jacket was full of ’em. I was the only one who dared speak out and got the sack for me trouble.’

‘Phew!’ The youth blew his cheeks out. ‘You never know what goes on in these places, do you?’

The pair padded up the main staircase in their rubber-soled shoes.

‘Wot’s that room?’ He nodded towards an open door.

‘Where the kids paint.’

He pushed it open with his foot and looked around at the childish paintings pinned on the walls.

‘I always fancied doing a bit of paintin’ meself,’ he said, ‘but never got the chance.’

‘Maybe you would if you hadn’t been expelled so many times.’

He grinned, then took a piece of thin paper from his pocket and poked some tobacco into it. With a practised movement he rolled it and licked the ends together with a large red tongue, and stuck it between his heavy lips.

‘I don’t think you ought to do that,’ the girl said, her expression suddenly anxious. ‘Someone might smell it and think the place is on fire. And we’ll be caught and punished.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ He struck a match and lit it.

‘I mean it, Billy. Put it out. It’s too dangerous.’ She blinked and waved the smoke away from her face.

‘Oh, awright. Just give me a few puffs.’ He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of smoke.

‘Billy …’

‘Stop nagging, Hil, for Chrissakes.’ He took one more drag, gave the roll-up a cursory stub on the edge of the Belfast sink, and tossed the still-glowing stub into the wastepaper basket.

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