Keep Smiling Through (31 page)

‘We’ve done business in the past,’ she murmured, her gaze on the loose thread she was slowly drawing from the upholstery. ‘But not this time, Ron. I’ve had my fingers burnt before.’

‘Then why do you even give him the time of day when you clearly can’t stand the sight of him?’

She reached for the packet of Park Drive, pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a match. ‘We go back a long way,’ she replied, blowing a stream of smoke, ‘and a friendship that enduring deserves a certain loyalty.’

‘Loyalty?’ spluttered Ron. ‘That weasel wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit him.’ He cocked his head and eyed her closely. ‘What’s he got over you, Rosie? How come you put up with him when you’ve proved in the past that you don’t suffer fools or people on the make?’

She regarded him with a look that told him he’d probed too far. She tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray and changed the subject. ‘I was wondering if Anne needed any help preparing the Christmas food now she’s got so many to feed? She’s very welcome to my ration of extra dried fruit and sugar if she wants to make a cake.’

Ron knew then that Rosie would say no more about Tommy Findlay, and that if he persisted in questioning her it would ruin their friendship. All he could do now was bide his time and hope she’d come to trust him enough to confide in him very soon. He just prayed that it wouldn’t be because Findlay had hurt her.

‘I don’t care what your father said. I’m not leaving Cliffehaven.’

The argument had been going on for at least half an hour. Rita’s impatience was rising and she was finding it almost impossible not to grab Louise and shake some sense into her. ‘We can get the post office to forward any mail,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘and leave our new address at the police station so the authorities can get in touch. Tino will find us, Mamma, wherever we are.’

‘You can’t be sure of that, and I’m not prepared to risk it.’

‘But Cliffehaven’s already seen some terrible raids, and you can be certain more will follow. Please, Mamma, think about it. Dad just wants us to be safe.’

‘I’m not going – and that’s an end to it.’

Rita finally snapped. ‘Then I’ll go without you,’ she retorted. ‘I’ll pack my bag and leave you here with Aggie.’

Louise slapped her with such force Rita staggered in shock.

‘You don’t speak to me like that,’ she shouted in rapid-fire Italian. ‘You are a wicked, selfish girl and I’m ashamed of you.’

The stinging slap had obliterated Rita’s jag of temper, but Louise’s accusation pierced her to the heart. She cupped her cheek and fought back blinding tears. ‘Don’t you
dare
call me selfish,’ she stuttered. ‘I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me and more, and yet you keep on demanding – keep on pulling those apron strings tighter and tighter until I can hardly breathe.’

‘You’re a black-hearted girl to say such things after all I’ve done for you,’ shouted Louise.

‘And what about all the things I’ve done for you?’ Rita dashed away the tears, determined to stay in control of her emotions. ‘I gave up my dream for you, Mamma.’

Louise’s lip curled. ‘I didn’t ask you to,’ she snapped.

‘Not in so many words,’ Rita replied, ‘but with all those long silences and emotional outbursts you made it impossible for me to see it through.’

‘I was simply trying to make you see how foolish you were being,’ she retorted. ‘Girls like you need to know your place. And it is with me – your mamma. Not on some airfield.’

Rita’s frustration was burning again. ‘What about my need to be with my father? Isn’t that important? Or can’t you see anything beyond your own needs?’

‘It’s different for me,’ Louise stormed. ‘Your father is safe and well. I don’t even know if my Tino and Roberto are still alive.’ She burst into noisy tears, collapsing on the bed in a huddle of misery.

Louise had a point, but it was clear she couldn’t think beyond her own misery – couldn’t understand anyone’s needs but her own – and wasn’t prepared even to try. Rita took a deep, trembling breath, shocked that it had come to this, and mortified by her own lack of self-control. Their harsh words couldn’t be taken back, and she feared the consequences to their once loving and close relationship.

Rita perched on the end of the bed, knowing she had to do something to make amends. ‘I do love you, Mamma,’ she said softly, ‘and I’m sorry I’ve upset you. But talking to Dad made me realise just how much I miss him, and this is a chance to be with him again.’

There was no response from Louise, and Rita took a steadying breath. ‘I know it’s hard for you without Papa Tino . . .’

‘You know nothing of how I feel.’ Louise sat up and glared at Rita through the tangle of her greying hair, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed, her face streaked with tears. ‘Go to your father!’ she shouted. ‘Leave me. See if I care.’

Rita closed her eyes. ‘You know very well I could never leave you while things are so uncertain,’ she murmured as the tears spilled down her face. ‘But please, Mamma, think about Dad’s offer and don’t just dismiss it out of hand.’

Louise collapsed back onto the pillows and reached for the rosary beads and family photographs that rarely left her side. ‘I will wait in Cliffehaven until they return,’ she sobbed. ‘If you really loved me you’d understand and stay with me.’

Rita’s head was pounding and she could still feel the heat of Louise’s slap on her cheek, but as she regarded the huddled figure on the bed, she ached for her understanding. Yet it was obvious Louise was deaf to everything, and would continue to use emotional blackmail to keep her tied to her. The love and respect she’d always had for Louise had been badly dented, and she wondered if either of them could emerge from this night’s terrible confrontation unscathed.

‘I need fresh air and time to think,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be, but try and sleep, Mamma. We’ll talk again in the morning.’

Louise emerged swiftly from the pillows and grabbed Rita’s arm. ‘Don’t go,’ she begged, her eyes wild with fear. ‘Please don’t go, Rita. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I said so many terrible things. I didn’t mean them. Really I didn’t.’

Rita gently moved out of her clutches, pulled on her leather jacket and reached for her gas mask box. ‘I know you didn’t,’ she said, drained of emotion and weary to the bone. ‘And I’m sorry too. I should never have spoken to you like that – but I’ve had enough, Mamma. I’ve really had enough.’

Louise stared at her, shock and distress battling in her eyes. ‘What do you mean by that, Rita?’

‘Don’t worry, Mamma. I’m not leaving you for more than a few hours. But we both could do with some time alone to think about everything – and to try to work out where we go from here.’

Louise scrambled off the bed, fresh tears streaming as she followed Rita to the door. ‘But there’s nothing to think about,’ she rasped through her sobs. ‘We love each other, and when Tino and Roberto come home we will be a family again.’ She grabbed Rita’s jacket sleeve. ‘Please,
cara mia
, don’t go. Don’t leave me.’

Rita hated pulling away from her, loathed herself for leaving the room and closing the door sharply between them. But her spirit and strength had been sapped by all that had happened over these past months and she needed to escape.

She heard the door opening as she ran down the stairs – heard Louise’s pleas for her to return ring out in the echoing stairwell, and closed her mind to them.

But her heart heard them, and she knew she would answer those calls before the night got much older. For now, she needed the wind and the rain and the throb of the powerful motorbike engine beneath her – needed the freedom of the tracks lacing the hills and the silence of the night to help her heal.

IT WAS CHRISTMAS
Eve and Anne had spent the morning with Mrs Finch and Lady Sylvia in the kitchen. Now the cake was safely cooling in the larder, the birds had been plucked and stuffed, and she needed to sit down and rest. The baby had been particularly restless since last night, her ankles were swollen and her back ached.

‘I’ll help Mrs Finch tidy up,’ said Sylvia kindly. ‘Drink this cup of tea and rest, dear. You look all in.’

She sipped gratefully at the very weak tea and closed her eyes. The morning’s baking had all been a bit last minute, but Rosie had supplemented their extra rations of dried fruit and sugar with her own, and it had been decided that Christmas wouldn’t be the same without a proper cake. Now the heavenly aroma of brandy-soaked fruit and rich cake drifted through the house, making it at last feel festive.

The clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece and Anne settled deeper into the comfortable chair. Martin and Cissy had wrapped up like Eskimos to go for a tramp across the hills to forage for mistletoe and holly with Grandpa Ron and Harvey, the nurses were not expected home until teatime and her father had fed the chickens and was now outside chopping wood for the fire. It was lovely to be at home; to have Martin with her every night and not have to worry about him – and he looked so very much better already after only a few days’ rest.

But she missed her mother dreadfully, and although it was selfish, she wished she hadn’t gone all the way to Somerset to be with Bob and Charlie. Peggy had been away for only two weeks, but it felt like months, and Christmas just wouldn’t be the same without her.

The sharp rap on the front door startled her and she snapped from her rambling thoughts and struggled to get out of the chair.

‘I’ll go,’ said Sylvia, not bothering to take off the rubber gloves as she pressed Anne back into the chair and hurried into the hall.

Anne could hear her talking to someone on the doorstep, and then her quick footsteps returning across the hall.

‘It’s arrived at last,’ Sylvia said triumphantly. ‘I knew they wouldn’t let me down.’ She dumped the enormous wicker basket on the kitchen table, her eyes shining in delight as she peeled off the rubber gloves.

‘Good heavens,’ muttered Mrs Finch, eyeing the basket with suspicion as she fiddled with her buzzing hearing aid. ‘Are we taking in laundry now?’

‘It’s the hamper from Fortnum and Mason’s,’ said Anne.

‘Camping fork basins? That doesn’t make sense, Anne.’

Anne struggled from the chair and spoke directly into Mrs Finch’s ear. ‘It’s the hamper from Fortnum and Mason’s,’ she said loudly.

‘Well, why didn’t you say so? Hurry up, Sylvia, and let’s see what’s inside.’

Sylvia laughed and unbuckled the sturdy straps, letting the wicker lid fall open. The three of them stood there in stunned silence as they regarded the bounty before them. They hadn’t seen food like this for over a year, and it was almost too much to take in.

Anne reverently drew out the oranges, the circular box of crystallised fruits, the little bag of walnuts, the two pouches of tobacco, and the twelve packets of Sobranie cigarettes. They were the exotic kind that were wrapped in pastel coloured papers, with gold foil tips – a rare and special treat never before seen at Beach View.

Mrs Finch cooed over the ornate canisters of tea, coffee, sugar and cocoa, and lovingly caressed the tins of shortbread and mince pies. ‘I’d better put my very best teeth in for these,’ she muttered.

They all gasped at the sight of two precious bars of foil-wrapped chocolate, and the beribboned box of tiny pink and white sugared mice. Digging deeper into the fragrant pale yellow straw, Sylvia found a Christmas pudding, a joint of ham, a box of cheese and a packet of plain crackers. She delved still deeper and examined the labels on the bottles of wine, champagne and brandy and pronounced them to be just as she’d ordered.

They stood and grinned at each other in delight, but as Anne regarded the treasure trove that now stood on the battered old kitchen table, she realised they must keep it secret. ‘We’ll have to hide it from the men,’ she murmured. ‘If they even get an inkling of this in the house, they’ll plunder it.’

‘A wise decision,’ said Sylvia. ‘We’ll put it all back but the ham, which I’ll cook now, and keep the hamper in my room. We can have the champagne and the wine with lunch, but the rest will stay out of sight until tomorrow afternoon. We don’t want anyone spoiling their appetite for Christmas lunch – not after all the trouble we’ve taken.’

They quickly packed everything away and Sylvia hauled it upstairs, leaving the kitchen only moments before Jim tramped in from the garden, his arms laden with firewood. ‘Did I hear someone banging on the front door?’

‘You must have been mistaken,’ said Anne, quickly covering the ham with a tea towel and shooting the giggling Mrs Finch a warning look. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea after chopping all that wood?’

‘Aye, I would that,’ he said as he stacked the logs neatly in the corner by the range. Straightening, he looked from Mrs Finch to Anne and frowned. ‘What’s going on? The pair of you look like guilty children.’

‘Nothing,’ said Mrs Finch, who was desperately trying to keep a straight face.

‘Here’s your tea, Dad,’ said Anne hastily, biting her lip.

‘Is there not a biscuit to go with it?’

Anne and Mrs Finch burst into giggles and he eyed them suspiciously. ‘To be sure,’ he muttered, ‘I’ll never understand women.’

‘Better that we hold a bit of mystery, Jim,’ said Sylvia as she came back into the kitchen. ‘We need something to keep you men on your toes.’ She avoided looking at Anne and Mrs Finch, but the corners of her mouth twitched as she pulled the rubber gloves back on and began to vigorously scrub the pots and pans.

‘Something’s going on here,’ he muttered good-naturedly, ‘but I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised – not with a house full of women and Christmas only hours away.’ He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Something smells delicious,’ he said. ‘Are we having cake for tea?’

‘It’s not to be touched until tomorrow,’ said Anne sharply. ‘I’ll find you something else to be going on with.’ She reached into the larder and pulled out the biscuit tin. There were only a few broken digestives in the bottom, but they would have to do.

‘Is that it?’ He eyed them in disgust. ‘I thought you bought some the other day? Have you hidden them?’

‘You ate them, remember?’