Spoils of War (37 page)

‘She’ll be fine once you’re in there, and my sister will be there with her new baby. You met her last night.’

‘She didn’t like me either.’

‘Only because Tony got you off on the wrong foot.’ He jumped out and walked around to the passenger side. ‘Come on, Gabrielle, my mother would be more upset at the thought of you standing outside in the street for all the neighbours to see than you in her kitchen. God, I hope Luke’s home, I’ll never shift this box by myself,’ he gasped, giving up on trying to lift the wooden crate that held all Gabrielle’s worldly goods. Taking her suitcase, he opened the door. ‘Mama?’

‘In the kitchen, Angelo,’ a voice called back.

‘Follow me.’ Sensing Gabrielle’s reluctance he led the way down the passage and opened the door. ‘Mama, I’ve brought someone to stay.’ He pushed the door wider. ‘This is Gabrielle von Stettin, Tony’s fiancée.’

Chapter Nineteen

As Bethan turned out of the garage she saw the thickset figure of Peter Raschenko swaggering down Broadway, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his short navy workman’s coat, cap pushed to the back of his head, his mop of white-blond hair falling low over his eyes. Even from a distance of fifty yards he exuded a confidence bordering on belligerence. Slowing the car, she pulled up ahead of him and slid back the window on the passenger side.

‘If you are going into town, Peter, I can give you a lift,’ she called out.

‘I am used to walking.’

‘It is absolutely no trouble as I’m going that way. And you can be home that much sooner to tell your mother and father that you have a job.’

He hesitated, then opened the passenger door and climbed in.

‘So, how do you like Pontypridd?’ she asked when he didn’t even murmur a ‘thank you’.

‘I will tell you what I told my father last night, Mrs John. I think everyone in Pontypridd asks the same question. And as I haven’t been in the town for a day I am not sure what I think of it.’ He looked out of the window as they drove past a picturesque row of cottages with long narrow front gardens.

Peter’s reticence reminded Bethan of several silences she had endured with Charlie when she had first met him. She wondered what quality enabled father and son to sit easily and unembarrassed through a lack of conversation when she felt driven to say almost anything to fill the lull. Was it the difference between Welsh and Russian cultures, self-assurance learned during childhood, or simply a personality trait shared by both father and son? But there was one subject that did need broaching.

‘You met my foster daughter last night.’

‘Liza, and there she is,’ he shouted excitedly, making Bethan turn her head sharply as Liza crossed the road in front of them and walked towards the bus stop under the railway bridge. Turning left, Bethan drew to a halt ahead of the bus queue. Leaning across Peter she opened the window again.

‘I thought you were spending the afternoon with Angelo, Liza.’

‘There’s been a crisis in the café. Angelo will be busy for the rest of the day so I thought I’d meet the children from school.’

‘I’m on my way to the hospital to fetch Andrew. We’ve arranged to meet the children together as we promised Andrew’s parents we’d take them up to the Common for tea. Dr John has just bought a cine-camera and projector. He has a few cartoons but I think his real object is to take some moving pictures of the children. Why don’t you come with us and allow him to film you for posterity?’

‘Or you could come with me.’ Peter stepped out of the car and walked towards her. Mindful of his father’s advice, he blurted, ‘I would like to buy you a coffee and talk to you, or take you for a walk in the park, or to the pictures.’

His words tumbled out so quickly that Bethan had to turn her head to hide a smile that was in serious danger of erupting into laughter.

‘What do you think, Auntie Bethan?’ Liza asked. ‘I have nothing else planned and Dr and Mrs John aren’t expecting me, are they?’

‘No, we thought you’d be with Angelo but –’

For the first time Liza didn’t wait for her foster mother to finish a sentence. ‘Then I’d be happy to have a coffee, go for a walk or to the pictures with you, Peter. Or even,’ she smiled, ‘all three.’

‘Would you come and meet my mother first? I want to tell her I have a job. A good one that pays more money than my father thinks is a day’s pay.’

‘I’m not sure I understood that, but yes, I’d like to meet your mother. You don’t mind, do you, Auntie Beth?’

Concerned by the thought of Liza spending time with Peter – possibly alone – and irritated because Liza had left her absolutely no room for manoeuvre, discussion or dissuasion, Bethan replied, ‘Your sisters will be disappointed.’

‘But they weren’t expecting to see me,’ Liza reminded mildly.

‘No – no, I suppose not.’

‘I will take good care of her, Mrs John,’

Peter’s quick assurance only served to worry Bethan even more. ‘You see that you do, Peter. Don’t be late, Liza, and don’t you dare walk up from town by yourself. Telephone and either Andrew or I will come and fetch you.’

‘I will walk her home, Mrs John.’

‘There’s no need, Peter. We’ll pick her up in the car. I’ll see you later, Liza.’

‘It might be a while later if we go to the pictures.’

Despite her anxiety at the prospect of Liza spending time with Peter, Bethan had to suppress another smile as Peter offered Liza his arm in blatant imitation of a couple at the bus stop. Then she looked at Liza’s face and took a deep, deep breath. No – it couldn’t be – it had to be her imagination. Peter was only sixteen, Liza nineteen, and at that age a three-year gap the wrong way between a girl and boy was enormous. Besides, Liza was going out with Angelo.

Then she remembered all the questions Liza had raised earlier that morning. Pushing the car into gear she drove on up the hill thinking of Andrew and what he had said about ‘other people’s problems’. She had a feeling she had just witnessed one in the making. An enormous one she sincerely hoped Liza wouldn’t live to regret.

Mrs Ronconi retreated to the wash house and covered her eyes with her apron. ‘I told Tony I didn’t want Germans in my house and now you bring one in, Angelo. Isn’t it enough that they killed your father, started a war and Gina doesn’t like her, without you bringing her here into my home?’

‘Mama, I had no choice. I couldn’t leave her in the café by herself.’

‘Tony –’

‘Tony has been arrested.’

She dropped her apron. ‘What has he done now?’ she demanded furiously.

‘Punched a man for calling Gabrielle a Nazi.’

‘But she is a Nazi.’

‘There are no more Nazis, Mama. We won the war and finished them off.’

‘She’s a German and Germans are Nazis.’

‘She’s a young girl who’s been lied to. Tony told her that he owned a chain of hotels and fine restaurants.’

‘So, she was going to marry him for his money. He fooled her! Serves her right, the – the – gold-digger.’

‘Mama, she has no one to turn to now Tony is locked up. Can’t you feel even a little bit sorry for her?’

‘Why? Because she thought she could make money from our Tony and now she can’t?’

‘Because she’s alone in a foreign country with people she knows don’t want or like her, and hate her for being German. And because Tony is in jail and might be there for a long time if the man he thumped doesn’t recover.’

‘So, she’s suffering. Good!’

‘Mama, please, just come into the kitchen to meet her. Talk to her. I promise you she is just an ordinary girl. Are Roberto and Luke at home?’

‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Because I need help to carry Gabrielle’s box upstairs.’

‘She can’t move in. There is nowhere for her to sleep.’

‘She can have my boxroom.’

‘And where will you sleep. The street?’

‘Either in Roberto’s room, in Alfredo’s bed, or the café. As Alfredo and I are going to have to run the restaurant and café between us until we know what is going to happen to Tony, it will be easier if one of us sleeps in the café to be there for the six o’clock morning opening.’

‘You expect me to put the entire house in uproar for a German. You expect me to change the bedclothes on your bed, clean and dust the room, allow her sit with us at table …’

‘If anyone’s created uproar, Mama, it’s Tony. Please, try and be nice to Gabrielle. She’s been through a lot the last couple of days.’

‘You can be nice to her.’

‘As soon as I’ve carried Gabrielle’s box in, I have to find Ronnie and ask him what he wants to do about Tony.’ Giving up on his mother, he returned to the kitchen. He was surprised to see Gabrielle sitting at the table, nursing Gina’s baby while his sister made tea.

‘Want a cup?’ Gina asked.

‘If it’s quick.’

‘It will be. The kettle’s almost boiled. Gabrielle’s a dab hand at calming babies with colic. Mama and I haven’t been able to do a thing with her all day and now look at the little angel, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’ Gina glanced fondly over Gabrielle’s shoulder at her daughter swathed in a shawl, eyes open, toothless mouth gaping in a grin.

‘It is luck.’ Gabrielle smiled shyly. ‘And a little bit of practice. I used to help my mother take care of my twin brothers when they were babies.’

‘Twins, that must have been nice.’ Gina did a quick count in her head and began lifting cups down from the dresser. ‘Are they in Germany?’

‘They were killed in the war.’

‘A lot of people were killed in the war.’ Mrs Ronconi stood in the doorway. ‘You must be Gabrielle.’

‘Yes, Mrs Ronconi. I realise it must be very hard for you to have me in your house. I am sorry to be so much trouble.’

‘Well, that can’t be helped. Now you’re here you’d better stay,’ she sniffed. ‘I don’t need Angelo to tell me that this is all Tony’s fault. He has always been a hothead. Nothing but trouble ever since he persuaded his Papa that he didn’t want to be the priest everyone in the family wanted him to be. Not that he would have been a good priest. He would have been a terrible one. Giving people punches instead of the holy sacrament and confession. If his Papa was alive he would thrash him; as it is,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘Tony carries on punching people. You were a fool to get engaged to him. A nice-looking girl like you could have done better for herself. Angelo, what are you doing standing around here with your mouth open? I thought you were going to see Ronnie about getting Tony out of jail.’

Masha spoke rapidly to Peter in Russian. Charlie looked at Liza and translated.

‘My wife would like to know if she can give you something else. Another cup of tea or a second piece of cake perhaps?’

‘No thank you,’ Liza replied, almost choking as Charlie said ‘my wife’. It was extremely odd to be sitting in this kitchen with him and Peter’s mother, who seemed so much older than the youthful and beautiful Alma Raschenko. Also, she wasn’t quite sure what to call him, so she left off his name altogether. ‘Uncle Charlie’ didn’t sound right in Peter and Masha’s presence, and plain ‘Charlie’ positively disrespectful, but she couldn’t remember hearing anyone in Pontypridd ever calling him anything else.

‘Thank your mother for the tea and cake, and tell her this is a lovely house, Peter.’

Peter obediently translated, triggering another torrent of words from Masha. ‘My mother says you are a nice girl.’

‘So where are you two going?’ Charlie asked.

‘I’ve persuaded Peter to take me to see
Frenchman’s Creek.
There’s a special showing in the Park Cinema. I’ve seen it before but it’s a lovely film and it’s in colour.’

‘My wife … I’ve seen it,’ he said quickly, looking at Masha although he knew she couldn’t understand a word of English. ‘It’s a good film. Enjoy yourselves.’

Peter left the table. ‘I have something to do, Liza. I will be back soon.’

She sipped her tea and smiled at Peter’s mother as Charlie made his excuses and followed his son up the stairs to the boxroom.

‘Why are you watching me?’ Peter questioned angrily, palming the pound notes Ronnie had given him that he’d been pushing under his mattress.

‘I came up to ask if you had enough money but I see you have some.’

‘Two pounds.’ Peter held them up. ‘Mr Ronconi gave me an advance on my wages to buy overalls and good strong waterproof boots. Will it be enough?’

‘If it isn’t I’ll lend you some until your first pay day,’ Charlie said, recognising his son’s need to pay his own way. ‘What about tonight?’

‘I have the money you gave me yesterday.’

‘You didn’t spend any?’

‘The coffee I bought was on the house.’

‘Five shillings should be enough to buy two tickets to the pictures and a couple of coffees afterwards. Get the ninepenny not the sixpenny tickets. That way you can sit upstairs in the balcony, you’ll get better seats and a clearer view of the screen. Oh, and you do know that men pay for women when they take them out?’

‘Why?’ Peter frowned.

‘Because they do.’ Charlie was unable to think of a single reason that sounded even remotely sensible.

‘But Liza is a nurse. She earns money, she told me. Why does she need mine?’

‘Because it’s what’s done in this country. A gentleman asks a lady out, the lady does him the favour by going with him, so the gentleman pays for the evening.’

‘Then gentlemen are stupid in this country.’

‘They probably are,’ Charlie agreed, unable to combat Peter’s basic logic. ‘But you should still pay for her ticket, ice cream and anything else she wants, and at the end of the evening walk her home to make sure she gets there safely.’

‘Ah, I understand, then she sleeps with you.’ Peter’s smile broadened as he thought of the woman he had bought in the camp with apples. Liza would be so much better. She was younger and prettier. ‘Now that makes sense. Men have to pay for everything and then the women –’

‘That is not the way it works at all,’ Charlie stressed, struggling to keep his exasperation in check. ‘Try to sleep with a girl the first time you go out with her and you will end up in prison.’

‘It’s a crime to sleep with a woman here?’

‘If the lady complains it’s called rape.’

‘I would never force any woman to sleep with me.’

‘That’s reassuring to hear. Now listen, no lady sleeps with a man after he’s taken her out just once. I explained that last night. Most people wait until they’re married before sleeping together.’

‘You didn’t with my mother.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I heard her talking to some other women about wedding nights when I was young. They thought I didn’t understand but I did. Mother said her wedding night happened before she was married to you and it was the most wonderful night of her life – then all the women laughed.’

‘Can we get back to tonight,’ Charlie asked, infuriated by Peter’s twisted understanding and obsession with sex. ‘A man walks a lady home after they have been out together to make sure that she gets there safely and for no other reason. Liza lives a long way out of town but if you’re lucky you might catch a bus. In fact, given your ideas about women it might be better if you do catch a bus so the driver can keep an eye on you.’