Orphans of War (40 page)

Everyone stood up to shake hands except Maddy, who for some reason looked away, flushed, and smiled.

‘Maddy, look who it is!’

‘Hello, Greg. We meet again,’ she grinned, and they
stared at each other. He just couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

‘I made it. Charlie lent me a show car. I’m so sorry to be late.’ His cheeks were flushed as he stood fiddling with a cufflink.

‘We met at Bella’s house last night,’ Maddy grinned. ‘Couldn’t believe it was our Greg. Would you know it, he wrapped his rally car round a tree at Bella’s and got out without a scratch?’

‘You should’ve said he was coming,’ Gloria sniffed. ‘I would have made extra.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t know…’

‘Come and sit down. Grace has already gone to fetch another cup and plate. How lovely to see you. You must stay the night so there’s time for you to tell us all about yourself. We’d almost lost touch with you. Oh, what a super end to my birthday. The unexpected guest is always the most welcome…I can’t believe it!’

How wonderful, out of the blue like that, like the long-lost hero from the wars returning, Gloria sighed. How dare Maddy not tell them Greg was coming?

When had he grown so tall and handsome and confident? Gloria couldn’t take her eyes off him for one second. She was preening her feathers, flirting, offering him cake, knowing she was being ridiculous but she didn’t care.

Soon he was settled by the fireside, telling them about the army and Germany, full of his new business, his plans for the future. He kept pausing to look at them both, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

Gloria couldn’t tear her eyes away from Greg’s face.
It was a film star face, with a blond Brylcreemed quiff, slicked back at the sides, those piercing blue eyes, and his car, the racing-green sports car with an open top, outside for all to see. It was a Morgan on loan on pain of death from his friend Charlie’s garage. He’d just swanned in like the old times. He was always Mrs Plum’s favourite evacuee.

Gloria was so glad she’d got on her new tan dress, bought from a proper dress shop with coupons Ken had given her for doing that extra bit of business yesterday in Bradford.

She felt hot thinking about how he made her pose, straddling the seat of a chair as if she was riding a horse with a whip and a top hat and high heels but nothing else.

‘You’re a natural, Gloria, and gorgeous!’ he’d kissed her on the lips and she’d not resisted.

He’d still not told her where he sold her pictures and she’d not done one straight corset shot yet. When she’d asked to see them he just waved his hand.

‘Your body is wasted covered in pink cotton and whalebone. It needs to be admired. You’ll be proud of my glamour shots…just one more.’ How she hoped he knew what he was doing. Some of the poses made her feel silly.

Yet the thought of Greg peering down at them made her squirm. What would he think of her? He might not understand their artistic value. Nudes were OK in museums and art galleries, but just in a plain photo…Why had she let Ken coax her into doing some of this stuff?

For all that he was short and dark and a bit greasy, he made her feel good and important and special, and she didn’t mind when he kissed her. He was the first man to make her feel like a real woman. Here was the second.

‘I can’t believe it’s you, after all these years,’ she whispered.

‘And here you are, just as cheeky and just as bonny,’ he laughed. ‘And Maddy here is a real mannequin at Marshfields. Charlie does old man Marshfield’s cars…the Bentley coupé and the Daimler. How long have you been working there?’ He turned back to Maddy, looking straight through Gloria as if she was glass.

‘She was at a typing school and got spotted, didn’t you? Now she’s all over the place–Manchester, London, it’ll be Paris next,’ Gloria added, not wanting to be ignored. ‘I’ve been doing a spot of photographic modelling myself, not like Maddy, but it pays well for knitting pattern books, catalogues,’ she lied, but it sounded good when she said it out loud.

‘Really?’ Greg smiled, turning back to Maddy. ‘How about going for a spin tomorrow before I go home…out into the hills and I’ll put the Morgan through its paces?’

‘Jolly good!’ Gloria could hardly contain herself. She could see herself whisked through the country lanes with all heads turning to see who it was.

‘And you too. I suppose I could squeeze three of us in at a push,’ Greg added.

‘I’d love to, but I ought to exercise Monty first,’ Maddy replied. ‘How’s poor Charlie?’

‘Just a bit sick,’ he replied. ‘He’s in bed today. He’ll be fine in the morning.’

‘I’ll be ready even if Maddy’s not,’ Gloria piped in, not wanting to be ignored.

Why was Maddy looking daggers at her? What had she said? It was no skin off her nose if Maddy didn’t come. One less distraction, and Greg would be all hers for the morning if Mrs Plum gave her the time off.

‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ said Mrs Plum. ‘But Maddy should have some fresh air too. Her face is much too pale.’

‘I can take Monty out for a hack, the exercise will do me good and then I really must get back to Leeds.’

‘I’ll give you a lift back?’ Greg offered without any prompting.

Gloria felt panic rising. Why was he making a fuss of Maddy and not her?

‘That’s kind, but enjoy your trip down memory lane with Gloria first. Aunt Plum will have lots of things to show you. We can catch up later,’ she said, blushing pink.

Well, goody goody, gumdrops, Gloria thought. It left the coast clear for her own invasion plans. Gregory Byrne was the best thing to drive into town since the army left for good. She was going to make sure he returned.

Greg paced over familiar territory in the chill November wind, down the field track, over cow pat fields, to the Old Vic. Everything seemed smaller, shabbier, but just as green and beautiful. The smell of
peat smoke, coal fires, horse dung and hay–still that real country aroma.

Sowerthwaite hadn’t changed since he was here as a vaccy: the grey stone church tower where they went bat hunting, the squat wide market square with the three-storey houses lining the cobbles, the low Dales cottages, the hostel still as it was, but empty and sadder, somehow, for being so.

He’d been happier here than anywhere; up the Victory Tree, spotting planes and hiding from old Ma Blunt, swopping picture cards and marbles.

Now the tree stood bare, its branches stripped by the wind, a carpet of rusting leaves at his feet. He looked up, expecting to see a line of dangling legs, the rope ladder and tree house where they’d always been. It brought a lump to his throat.

He was so glad he’d come back and could prove he was somebody, not just a scruffy evacuee. He’d come with his tail up, even if it was in a borrowed car. He had to see Maddy again. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

He was on the road to success, given time. There was cash in his pocket. He knew his trade and he had the gift of the gab to sell himself but one look from those flashing eyes and he was lost. When she looked at him, he was knocked sideways. There was something so imposing about her on horseback, or lounging in the drawing room, that stirred him; her eyes, her warmth and attractiveness roused him even as he thought of her. She stirred desire inside him, a longing even before he’d known who she was. It was as if he’d
been struck stupid all over again, just like the night before.

She was his Maddy, his friend, the first good deed he’d done on that station all those years ago when Plum had entrusted him to find her.

Gloria was lovely, bubbly, cheeky and full of fun. She’d not changed, eager to be included, pretty and curvaceous, a head-turner in her own way, but she wasn’t Maddy. He’d not be ashamed to have her on his arm if there wasn’t a first choice. She was more of his own class than the young lady at Brooklyn Hall.

Why was he feeling so angry and anxious? He hadn’t come north to face all this being stirring up, but it was mixed up with being here as a child: so many memories crowding into his head, his lonely childhood and longing for a family of his own.

The Aftons were kind to him but it was work that kept loneliness at bay, work that gave him satisfaction, work that gave him pride. Bella and Alex’s crowd were not his type. They had too much money and life had been too easy for them.

Coming back here reminded him that he was poor, alone, an orphan, and how much he had lost in life. The Old Vic had brought a family of sorts, as had the army, and staying with the Aftons. He didn’t belong at the Brooklyn, however welcoming Mrs Plum was to him.

He must put all this sentimental nonsense behind him. Now was the time to grab his chance, have some fun and forget all that stuff–but how could he do that if he didn’t have Maddy Belfield by his side?

Maddy woke sweating from a dream. It was a nightmare of explosions and railway stations where she stood trying to catch a train that wouldn’t let her on board. She was being carried far away, against her will and she couldn’t reach the train home to Plum and Monty. The stables were burning, Monty was trapped, and she couldn’t rescue him. She was tearing the bed sheets and woke gasping for breath, sitting bolt upright in the darkness. Where was she?

Then she recalled it was Sunday night, she was safe in her own room, and along the corridor was Greg Byrne in the blue guest room. Her feelings had turned upside down in twenty-four hours, all because of his arrival in her life.

Out of nowhere he’d turned up and shaken her to her boots. It was the shock of seeing him grown, handsome, so physical in his leather suit the first time she saw him in the snow. She could almost sense him in her nostrils like a horse senses fear or danger or attraction.

She felt wary, uncertain, curious and confused. She’d wanted to stay safe. The last time Maddy had let her emotions rule, look what had happened. That must never happen again. Yet there was something in his stride, his long limbs, the curve of his stance, his enthusiasm, she was finding hard to ignore, like a stallion let loose in a field of brood mares. It made her feel hot all over.

Aunt Plum had quizzed him all evening, and the Murrays were all ears about his travels in Europe. He’d asked about Pleasance and the oldies, the Battys, the
other evacuees, as if he was really interested. They talked about his letters and the terrible trek through Northern France.

She’d seen the shutters closing over his eyes when he talked about the war. He was filtering what he said to them. Everyone sat listening, enthralled that this was their Greg, returned to them.

Gloria sat with her hands wrapped over her knees, gazing adoringly into his face in the firelight, willing him to look at her and admire this devoted attention.

Greg kept glancing at Maddy all evening and she stared back, holding his gaze as if sending a signal that she longed to be alone with him. She sensed how nervous he was, seeing through his bravado.

He’d had a tough time as a soldier and now he was trying to forge a new life for himself. She sensed it was a struggle. It was Charlie’s money that brought them to the rally. Who was she to look down on his efforts? He’d had none of her advantages and that made him all the stronger in her eyes.

She was just a clothes horse, showing off expensive outfits to women with more money than sense. There was not great merit in her work and yet she was admired for the mere accident of her figure and face, neither of which were any of her doing. The configuration of her limbs and features were an accident of birth. Only her eye had been tampered with.

She fitted the clothes because of her thinness and height. She was there to emphasise the cut and design of the fabric, nothing more. She was no more than a doll for dressing. She’d not battled across the
Rhine against gunfire and shrapnel. She’d not watched her friends shot to pieces or starved in war-torn cities.

They’d lived out the war in comfort, even though she’d lost all her family. He’d never had any family to mourn. The war felt like some strange dream now, so unreal, shoved to the back of the cupboard of her mind along with all the other stuff.

Greg’s arrival brought it all back, her memories of the war, and his kindness to her at the station. How he’d stuck up for her when she was bullied.

They were both orphans, children of war, evacuees and refugees. How could you–forget all that? They had so much in common.

Maddy lay back with a sigh. He really was quite a dish.

‘How do you get enough petrol?’ screamed Gloria, clinging on to the side of the car as they spun round a bend. She was terrified and feeling sick, a silk scarf wrapped round under her chin, but she was enjoying the run too much to spoil his showing off. Greg looked so dashing in his thick army coat and racing goggles.

They’d taken the high road to Malham and kept stopping to open gates. They scared sheep, which scattered in all directions. She’d posed by the gatepost to show off her shapely pins and ankles, pulled in her waist belt until it hurt and tried to look cool and sophisticated, windswept and mysterious, like the stars did in the pictures.

Greg was such a fast driver, with no sense of danger,
that her heart was in her mouth but she tried to imagine they were in Monte Carlo.

‘This is fun!’ she yelled, strands of hair whipping her eyelids, though the urge to retch was getting stronger by the minute. ‘Stop and let’s have a look at the view,’ she suggested, knowing she was going to be sick.