Sealed With a Loving Kiss (23 page)

Mary visibly relaxed her tense shoulders. ‘Then that would be lovely, Rosie. Are you sure you don't mind?'

Rosie laughed. ‘Of course I don't mind. Good heavens, I'd be a pretty poor friend if I made you walk round the town all day when I have a lovely cosy room upstairs. There's some chicken left over from yesterday, so make yourselves a bit of lunch while you're at it. I expect you're hungry now after being out in the cold for so long.'

Mary shot her a shy smile. ‘Thank you, Rosie. We were wondering where we could go, and neither of us felt right about descending on Peggy after she gave that marvellous party last night.'

‘It was fun, wasn't it?' She noticed that there were three people waiting to be served and that Ron was busy at the other end of the bar. ‘Now get yourselves upstairs, and don't mind the mess. I just haven't had the time to clear up today.'

‘Is it wise to let them loose up there on their own?' muttered Ron as they stood side by side drawing pints.

‘About as wise as letting you stay until two in the morning,' she countered fondly. ‘Don't worry about it, Ron. They're young and in love and have so little time together – it's the least I can do.'

‘You really like Mary, don't you?'

Rosie smiled as she realised just how protective she'd become towards the girl. ‘Yes, she's a lovely, sweet girl – the sort that any mother would be proud of. I suppose, having heard some of her story from Peg, I want to make things all right for her.'

Ron grinned back at her. ‘You and Peggy are a couple of old softies. You know that, don't you?'

‘There's nothing wrong with a bit of love and warmth when it's needed, Ronan Reilly,' she retorted with a cheeky wink. ‘Now get on with serving that beer before it goes flat.'

‘Rosie is lovely, isn't she?' Mary took off her coat and patted the two dogs, who were delighted to see them after being shut in the upstairs rooms since opening time.

‘It's really kind of her to let us stay, but why were you so hesitant about her brother?'

Mary knew he'd ask, and had prepared herself. ‘He's all right, really,' she fibbed. ‘But he's a bit old to be playing gooseberry and it would have been embarrassing, that's all.'

He seemed to accept this, and sat down beside her on the sagging couch. He looked round the room which was cosy with comfortable, chintz-covered chairs and thick rugs. The two dogs were now sprawled in front of the hearth despite the fact no fire had been lit. ‘It's nice up here, isn't it? I've always had a bit of a hankering to have my own pub.'

She looked at him in amazement. ‘You never said anything before about this secret hankering – and from what I've seen these past few weeks, it isn't an easy life. Poor Rosie never gets much time to herself, and she's always worn out.'

He grinned as he put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘It's a dream most men have, but I am aware of the realities. Now come here and let me kiss you.'

The time sped past and soon Ron and Rosie came up the stairs to join them for a meal of cold chicken and bubble and squeak which Mary had put together. They left shortly afterwards to take the two dogs for a walk, promising to return with fish and chips if any of the fishmongers were frying tonight.

Mary and Jack settled down on the couch with the radio turned down low and spent a lovely afternoon talking, cuddling and making plans for the future – and when things got a bit intense, Mary ordered him to sweep the hearth and light the fire while she washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. It was fun to play house, with Jack busy in the sitting room while she pottered in the kitchen, but goodness only knew what her mother would have said about it, for she definitely wouldn't have approved.

It was almost five o'clock when Ron and Rosie returned triumphantly with lovely fish and chips, which they ate straight out of the paper. ‘That was delicious,' said Mary as she finished the last chip and licked her fingers to savour the salt and grease.

‘Well, I'll be off to me Home Guard duties,' said Ron, feeding the dogs with the scraps of batter from his fish. ‘It's an all-nighter, so you'll not see me until tomorrow.' He gave Rosie a hearty kiss, clicked his fingers at Harvey, and they both clattered down the stairs.

‘And I have to open up,' said Rosie. She stood in front of the mirror above the fireplace to freshen her make-up. ‘I'm on my own tonight, so it's bound to be hectic.'

‘Could I help at all?' asked Jack eagerly.

Rosie chuckled. ‘Have you had any experience other than from the other side of the bar?'

He shook his head, his expression rueful. ‘But I'm a quick learner, Rosie, and you need a hand.'

‘All right then. We'll give it a try, but it will mean Mary being on her own all evening.'

‘No, it won't,' said Mary as she gathered up the greasy newspapers and folded them into the wood box by the hearth. ‘I'm coming down too, and because it's the only way to repay you for giving us such a lovely day, I'll be more than happy to play the piano.'

‘Oh, but you don't want to be doing that on your last night together,' gasped Rosie.

Mary took her hand and gave her a kiss on her soft, freshly powdered cheek. ‘We can't think of anything we'd like more, so please let us do it.'

Rosie relented gracefully, and they trooped downstairs. She ordered Monty to stay by the inglenook, before giving Jack a swift course in how to pull a pint correctly, and the mechanics of working the till, then sent him down to the cellar to fetch a couple of crates. As the clock struck the hour, she pulled back the bolts on the door and the first few customers strolled in to the sound of Mary playing the piano.

It was now just past eleven and Rosie had locked the door after her last customer. Mary and Jack quickly helped to finish washing the glasses and clearing up the bar, for they could see how tired she was. Once everything was neat again, they went upstairs and Mary made her a cup of tea before reluctantly gathering up her things.

‘Thank you again, Rosie,' she said as she gave her a hug. ‘You've given me and Jack a wonderful day, and we're so very grateful.'

‘I was glad to do it,' she replied, returning the hug. ‘And if you ever need to talk, or feel like a bit of respite from Doris, you know where I am.'

Mary blinked back her tears, unable to voice her gratitude and affection for this lovely woman who'd become such an important part of her new life here in Cliffehaven.

Rosie held her arms open to Jack. ‘Now, you take care of yourself and come back to this lovely girl,' she said, giving him an enthusiastic hug. ‘And the next time you come on leave, there'll be a spare bedroom, so you can stay with me instead of that soulless hostel.'

Jack blushed to the roots of his cropped hair. ‘Thanks, Rosie. You've been a true friend to both of us.' He clasped Mary's hand. ‘Look after my girl, won't you?'

Rosie's smile was soft. ‘Of course I will – and so will Peggy. Now get out of here before I start getting tearful.'

Mary's hand was warm in his as they left the Anchor and walked down the street, and she could feel the strength in his fingers, and the sturdiness of him as she leaned into him. The day had been perfect, but now it was almost over and they would have to say goodbye, not knowing what the future held, or how long they would be apart. She blinked back her tears, determined not to make a fuss, but her heart was aching as every step took them closer to that parting.

‘You've fallen on your feet here,' he said. ‘Rosie and Peggy remind me of my mum, and I do feel easier about leaving now I know there's someone to look out for you.'

Mary roused herself from her dark thoughts and forced a smile into her voice. ‘I don't want you worrying about me,' she replied with a lightness that belied the heaviness in her heart. ‘Just take care of yourself and come home safe and sound.'

He pulled her into his side as they walked silently towards Havelock Road, their true thoughts unspoken, their fears hidden deep inside. As they reached the house he drew her into the deep shadows of the overhanging trees. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her and then held her for a long moment, his chin resting on her head. They had no need for words, for each knew what was in the other's heart.

With a deep sigh he finally stepped back. ‘I have to go, Mary,' he said brokenly.

Mary clung to his hands. She wanted to beg him to be careful, to not forget her – to come home safe and unharmed and not put himself to any unnecessary risk by being a hero. But she said nothing, knowing that he would return if he could, and that their future was now in the hands of Fate.

‘I love you,' she said, her voice soft and unsteady as she battled with her tears.

‘I love you too, my own, sweet, precious Mary.' His eyes glistened and the muscles in his face moved beneath the tanned flesh as he struggled to hold in his own raw emotions. He released his grip on her fingers, took a step back and then turned and ran down the road.

Mary stood there until she could no longer see him or hear his boots thudding on the pavement. ‘God go with you, Jack,' she managed through her tears. ‘And keep you safe so you can come home to me.'

MARY WAS WAITING
outside the ramshackle drill hall which overlooked the allotments, her Christmas scarf pulled up to her chin, her gloved hands deep in her coat pocket. It was the day after Jack had left and she felt empty inside and rather lonely, but she had other concerns to keep her mind occupied at this moment, for the orchestra were already tuning up, and Fran was late.

This would be the first rehearsal that Fran could attend, for she'd been on duty at the hospital on the other occasions, and if she missed this one, there were only two more before the concert. The conductor, Algernon Beamish, was a stickler about attendance and he hadn't taken kindly to Doris's insistence that Fran join the orchestra, which he considered to be his creation – he certainly wouldn't be pleased if she didn't even show up.

Mary heard the sound of running footsteps and turned with a smile as Fran came haring up the road still in her nurse's uniform and cape. ‘You're cutting it fine. I didn't think you'd make it.'

‘I very nearly didn't,' puffed Fran. ‘To be sure, Matron was in a terrible mood today and I had to stay on to watch over one of the probationers.' She finally got her breath back and grinned. ‘It was lucky I took the violin to work with me. I'd never have made it at all if I'd had to go back home to fetch it.'

‘Well, you're here now, so we'd better go in and introduce you to the others before they get started on the first piece. You'll know some of the orchestra, because they're servicemen who play along with us at the pub.'

Fran suddenly hung back as Mary went to push open the door. ‘I'm not too sure about this, Mary. What if they say I'm not good enough and tell me to leave?'

Mary laughed. ‘That isn't going to happen in a million years, Fran. You really must start believing in yourself, you know, because you're so talented you'll probably put the rest of us to shame.'

She took Fran's hand and firmly led the way into the hall with its bare wooden floor and dusty rafters lining the tin roof. The main body of the small building was crammed with chairs, music stands and people, the grand piano that had been lent by the Mayor had been tucked away in a corner by shelves laden with scout and guide equipment; and the rather large harpist had to squeeze behind her instrument because it was jammed in the other corner.

Everyone stopped tuning their instruments as Mary introduced Fran, who went as red as a beetroot and looked ready to run for the hills when she spied Robert Goodyear amongst the musicians. Mary knew her friend had managed to avoid him since he'd been best man at Suzy's wedding, but he'd taken to hanging about outside the hospital, which was rather disturbing, for he never approached her, or tried to speak, just stood gazing at her as she hurried away.

‘You didn't warn me he'd be here,' she hissed to Mary.

‘I didn't think you'd come if I did.' She shot her a rueful smile. ‘Sorry, Fran.'

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the elderly conductor, who was portly and balding and rather pleased with himself, as he'd once been well known in music circles until he'd been caught by the entire string section in flagrante with a married lady cellist. ‘You're late,' he said. ‘Sit over there and let me hear what you can do before I agree to you joining us.'

Mary squeezed Fran's hand and then hurried over to the piano and took off her gloves. It was wise to keep her coat on like everyone else, for the place was freezing, with a draught whistling beneath the door and through the two badly fitting windows.

She watched as Fran greeted the servicemen she knew from the music nights at the Anchor, then sat down and took her time to tune up her violin. Mary started to fret, for she'd forgotten to warn Fran not to play an Irish jig as her introductory piece. It wouldn't go down well with Mr Beamish, who was clearly already prepared to dislike her inclusion into what he thought of as
his
orchestra. But it was too late now, and everyone was waiting.

It was then that she noticed Robert Goodyear. His brown eyes were liquid with longing as he clasped his gleaming clarinet in his large hands and watched Fran's every move, and she could understand now how disconcerting Fran must find this silent adoration. Perhaps she'd been wrong to keep his presence a secret.

Fran finished tuning the violin and, after taking a deep, steadying breath, began to play the first movement of a Bach sonata. As the beautiful notes rang clearly and sweetly through the hushed room, Mary relaxed and felt an enormous pride in her friend's undoubted talent. And when she came to the end there was rapturous applause from everyone – even the middle-aged violinist, who was already aware that she fell far short of Mr Beamish's high standard.