Meet Me at the Pier Head (46 page)

The group sat and smiled while Rosie tried to master double-unders.

Isadora rose to her feet. ‘Come along, everyone. Let’s go inside for our cream tea.’
We have the beginnings of a battle plan. Letters from the hospital will win us support
from the NSPCC. Rosie will be fostered by Portia and Theo, or I’ll die trying. The child’s looking well, some flesh on her bones, confidence in her voice. Oh yes, we shall
overcome.

Rosie, undiminished by her ordeal by medics, interviewed the waiter on the subject of clotted cream. Neither he nor she had the slightest idea about making clots in cream, but her thirst for
information brightened her eyes, just as it always did. She ate two scones, an enormous amount of strawberry jam and more than her fair share of cream. She finished with two cups of milky tea and a
hand on her full stomach. ‘Perhaps they have special cows and it comes out clotted. What do you think, Nana?’

Maggie smiled and sighed simultaneously; she felt a bit better after taking Daphne Melia’s blood tonic . . .

The weekend was spent in happy chaos at Bartle Hall. Managing to forget all about her close and miserable relationship with coal, Rosie Stone leapt head first into the priest
hole game. She found six and, with a little help from Juliet, managed to work out the mechanisms that would gain her admission to the dusty spaces behind the panelling. In every hole, there was a
present for her. She found books, a spinning top, clothes, ribbons, a pink necklace, and a large pencil case full of crayons and pencils and pens.

‘You’re nearly there,’ Juliet informed the excited child. ‘Just one more to go. There are seven altogether, and the last is the most interesting.’

Rosie wiped her forehead. ‘Can we have a rest? Can we visit Mr and Mrs Quinn? We haven’t seen them since hospital day.’

Juliet explained gently that Theo and Tia were on their honeymoon. ‘It isn’t that they don’t care about us, but this is their alone time before they have to get back to
normal.’ She stroked Rosie’s hair. ‘They love you. We all love you.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You and I will be sleeping in the gypsy caravan tonight;
it’s in the garden behind Rose Cottage. We can lie there and tell stories and jokes. See? Another adventure for you. But now I’m going to show you Bartle Hall’s biggest secret.
It’s the seventh hole, and it’s a big one. We call it Seventh Heaven, because it’s up in the eaves and nearer to God, and it’s a holy place.’

‘A holy hole?’

Juliet laughed. ‘It’s rather larger than the rest, sweetie.’

They ascended a narrow, tortuous stairway that reminded Rosie of a corkscrew. Eventually, they emerged on a landing that opened out into the roof space where rejected items were stored. Juliet
switched on a torch. ‘The floor remains solid enough for people of our size. Follow me.’

They reached a wall. ‘Now.’ Juliet placed the torch on a scarred table. ‘Can you see where it is?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘It’s just a wood wall like you have downstairs.’

‘A flap in the bottom lifts just enough for a man to crawl through. Inside, it has bolts so that the priest was truly hidden and safe. This was his last chance to avoid being
murdered.’ She knelt after picking up her torch. ‘Follow me.’ Lifting a section of the wall, she crawled through with Rosie hot on her heels. They both stood in total blackness
until Juliet swept light across the area.

The little girl gasped. ‘But this is a church, a teeny-tiny church.’

There were just two short pews facing the altar. A white altar cloth was falling to bits, though the central tabernacle seemed to have survived. ‘Why did it happen?’ Rosie asked.

‘Hatred. Christians killing Christians. They couldn’t accept each other’s differences. This is a Catholic chapel. But the Catholics did their unfair share of torture and
killings, too. It’s stupidity. Never imagine that grown-ups know everything, because they don’t.’ She picked up an item from the pew to her right. ‘This seemed suitable as a
gift from Seventh Heaven. It’s a Bible with coloured pictures in it.’

‘Thank you. Are you a Christian, Juliet? Miss Bellam— I mean Mrs Quinn says you are.’

‘I am. But I allow myself to worship just about anywhere, Methodist chapels, Catholic churches, Church of England – I’m not proud. It’s one God and one Jesus. The rest is
unimportant to me. But you’ll find your own way, Rosie.’

Rosie pondered for a few moments. ‘What about people who don’t believe in Jesus? You know, in jungles and all that. They don’t know about Jesus.’

‘They have their own chosen faiths which must be honoured. As long as they do good in their lives, they’re on the same journey, but they take a different road. It’s a case of
doing your best.’

‘Like Nana?’

‘Exactly like Nana. Now, let’s grab some lunch. I heard a rumour about apple pie with pink custard.’

‘My favourite colour.’

‘Exactly. But you must eat your sandwich first.’

They descended the corkscrew staircase.

‘Juliet?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you think you might stay in Liverpool with Dr Heilberg?’

‘It’s all under discussion.’

Rosie swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

At the bottom of the staircase to Seventh Heaven, Juliet hugged the little girl. ‘You won’t lose me, baby. Wherever I am, you’ll always be in my heart.’

‘Thank you, Juliet. I love all of you, too.’

‘We know that, sweetheart. Come on – pink custard. Apple pie made from our own home-grown fruit. Scrummy.’

As they walked towards lunch, Juliet held on to her young charge.
I want a daughter just like this one, pretty and strong almost to the point of unbreakability. We have to save her. If
necessary, I’ll smuggle her out of the bloody country. But first, pink custard.

While Rosie was interviewing Mrs Melia on the subject of how to make custard pink instead of yellow, Theo and Tia were considering getting out of bed. Lying stark naked on top
of the covers, they were still roasting. Theo made a unilateral decision. Water from the previous evening would still be tepid, so they could share a bath.

As he walked towards the door, Tia looked at his scars again. She wasn’t allowed to pity him, but the marks on his back made her angry. Angry wasn’t good, since it made her even
warmer, so she forced herself out of bed to open the window fully. Lighting a fire every evening wasn’t a good idea, but it was the only way to get hot water. ‘I’ll buy one of
those immersion things,’ she said. She heard him cursing; the hot tap was spitting water and air; the whole place needed newer plumbing.

He stood in the doorway. ‘Get in the bathroom,’ he ordered, amazed when she blinked just once before showing signs of doing as she was told.
Am I taming her? Do I want to tame
her?
‘We have to share,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the end near the taps.’
What’s the matter with her?
‘What’s the matter with you?
You’re quiet.’ He followed her to the bathroom.

She climbed into the bath and awarded him one of the more brilliant of her collection of smiles. ‘I just thought I’d never love so quickly and so hard. I love you more than I did on
our wedding day.’

‘Three days ago, Portia.’

She nodded. ‘I feel very . . . fortunate, but that’s an inadequate word. Join me – the water’s lovely.’

They sat opposite each other, chins resting on knees.

‘You make me happy, Teddy Bear. I feel as if the glass slipper fitted and I got the prince.’

‘No. I won first prize, baby. Come on; we re-join the rest of the world today.’
My heart’s dancing like those loonies with bells on their socks. Or maybe I’m the
village idiot, risking pain by allowing myself to love this wonderful woman. We have given ourselves to each other so quickly, yet I feel I couldn’t live without her, and she says she feels
the same.

‘Do you know where we’re taking them?’

He grinned. ‘Just onward, baby. I have the map.’

‘Leeds Castle?’ she asked. ‘And hop fields?’

‘Yes to the first, and the second will prove unavoidable. But without you, I’d have no map. You’re my way home, baby. Let’s clean up the act and go.’

Four people spilled out of the van and stared at the most beautiful castle in England. Tia, Theo, Juliet and Rosie had left the others behind. Nancy was knitting in the garden
of Lilac Cottage, Tom was engrossed in
A Tale of Two Cities
, Maggie was chatting in the kitchen with Mrs Melia, while Izzy had gone to take Sunday afternoon tea with friends in Chaddington
Green. Delia, who had been extra nice to Theo, had returned to London on the train and was doubtless telling her bandmates that there was a chance of a better van.

Theo recognized the building immediately from the film
Kind Hearts and Coronets
. ‘This is Leeds Castle, Rosie. Nine centuries old, but it’s been changed and extended many
times since the eleventh century. If the owner hadn’t placed himself on the side of the Parliamentarians, it might have been destroyed.’

Inevitably, Rosie filed a questionnaire at this point, thereby causing an American citizen to fill in the gaps about monarchists and republicans and Oliver Cromwell with his ‘warts and
all’. He explained the moat. ‘It’s there to stop people getting into the castle. What? Oh, they used drawbridges to get out and to let in people they wanted to see.’

Rosie pondered. ‘Captain Webb on the matchboxes could have swum it. He went from England to France.’

Theo sighed. She had an answer for everything, and she put him in mind – just slightly in mind – of Colin Duckworth. ‘Yes, Matthew Webb probably could have done it, but he
didn’t.’

‘Are you mad at me?’ she asked.

‘Never, Rosie,’ he said. ‘You’re a breath of fresh air in a very hot world.’

Because of the heat, they spent the rest of the day wandering through villages, eating ice cream, sitting under canopies provided by trees, drinking cold fruit juices, paddling in streams and
lying in fallow fields.

‘I like Kent,’ Rosie said sleepily.

‘So do I,’ the sisters chimed in unison.

Theo chuckled. ‘I’m just glad the RAF didn’t send any German wreckage down on Leeds Castle or on any of the wonderful Tudor houses we’ve seen today. We could have turned
this into a real hellish corner.’

‘It’s hot,’ Tia complained.

He chuckled. ‘Hot? You should try America, my love. Step outside in summer and, in some states, it feels as if someone has thrown a boiling hot blanket over you. Breathing is an effort. We
prayed for rain. My dad used to talk at length about Ireland and its many shades of green. He said summer was a time for considering building an ark, but it was too wet to go out and find the
wood.’

‘Did he get used to the heat?’ Juliet asked.

‘No. He’s fair-skinned with sandy hair and very red skin in the sun.’

They all looked at Rosie, who was snoring softly. ‘Bless her,’ Juliet mumbled. ‘What will become of her?’

Portia smiled. ‘She’ll be Izzy-ed. You know about the camel and the needle in the Bible? Ma would have got the animal through the hole.’

Theo drifted towards sleep. He was glad he’d left the dog with Maggie and Mrs Melia, as she would have been panting and weary. Feeling safe and happy, he joined Rosie in the land of
Nod.

‘No stamina,’ Tia whispered.

‘You’ve worn him out,’ Juliet giggled.

‘Don’t be vulgar, Jules. He’s amazing and a good cook.’

‘You’re happy.’

‘Happier than I ever felt I deserved. Let’s sleep.’

Having enjoyed six idyllic weeks away celebrating their tenth anniversary, Tia and Theo Quinn descended the aeroplane steps following a bump-free landing at Manchester’s
Ringway Airport. Trident had given them the smoothest, quietest and easiest flight from Paris, and they’d enjoyed a blissful second honeymoon, but they were oh-so-glad to be back.

Manchester’s cloud cover was dark grey and heavily pregnant with rain, specks of which were leaking out as harbingers of imminent delivery on a grand scale. But this was England, and
England was home. Their small country was green because of her unpredictable weather, and she was a truly beautiful old lady with a history that was often mind-blowing. ‘Home, sweet
home,’ Theo said on his way down the steps. ‘Oh yes, the rain’s giving us a welcome, baby.’

They reached the tarmac, both grateful for terra firma. ‘Thank you for a lovely time, Teddy.’ Tia gripped his hand. ‘Thank you for New York, for Georgia, for Washington and
Niagara and Pennsylvania and Boston and Chicago and—’

‘And you’re breaking my fingers, Portia.’

‘Sorry.’ She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She had stood at his mother’s grave and on the very spot where the poor woman had died. ‘Most of all, thank you for
marrying me, for introducing me to your family, for taking me to President Kennedy’s grave, and for France. Just think, we were in Paris a couple of hours ago. Thank you, Teddy
Bear.’

He gazed into her magnificent eyes. ‘You’re welcome, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘Thank you for tolerating me for a whole decade.’

‘I love you,’ she whispered.

Theo shrugged. ‘What’s not to love? I’m handsome, rich, famous, generous, amusing, and I wilt not wilt – not yet, anyway. Let’s go find your mom and our sproglets.
I missed the boys and Rosie. And it’s so much easier to breathe here, isn’t it? Summer across the Atlantic can be very trying.’

They recovered their luggage, wheeled it through NOTHING TO DECLARE, and almost ran like a pair of smugglers towards the public area. Manchester had begun to do its thing of trying to commit
suicide by drowning, but no one noticed the rain battering the windows because Mum and Dad were home. Rosie waved and pushed her foster-brothers forward. ‘Here they come, boys. Don’t
they look wonderful?’

David, aged eight, and Michael, who was five, hurled themselves at their parents. Many hugs and kisses were shared while the two boys expressed their delight. Behind them stood a truly beautiful
Rosie, now fifteen, tall and slender, dark-haired, clear-eyed and determined not to allow happiness to spill down her cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you safely home. We watched you
coming in to land. That’s the most beautiful plane I ever saw.’