Wartime Brides (22 page)

They insisted on her having a cup of tea before allowing her to leave. Even after she’d managed to persuade them that she was all right Polly escorted her to the door.

‘I’ll tell Charlotte you were asking after her,’ she gushed, her cheeky smile and bouncing blonde hair far removed from the secretaries Edna was used to at the tobacco factory. Most of them were austere with stiff hairdos, stiffer backs, and wire-rimmed glasses.

It wasn’t until she got to the bus stop that she realised she’d left her scarf behind. Clothes were scarce enough as it was without her losing such a nice item. Sighing with frustration but telling herself not to panic, she ran back to the consulting rooms, hating to disturb such a busy man from his duties but too fond of her scarf and short on clothing coupons to leave it behind.

She clasped the lion’s head knocker but did not use it. The door opened easily beneath her hand. A hybrid smell of polish and antiseptic drifted out. Typical, slap-dash Polly, she thought, so anxious to get back to her work that she hadn’t locked it properly.

The reception area was just off the hallway, an elegant room of cream walls, parquet floors and Indian rugs. It was empty. Suddenly aware of low voices, she went over to the double doors of the consulting rooms. The voices got louder. She formed a fist, was just about to knock, then paused. The door was ajar slightly. She peered in through the gap and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her hand flew to her mouth. Suddenly she felt sick. Polly and David Hennessey-White were wrapped in each other’s
arms
. The bodice of Polly’s dress hung open exposing white flesh above a cream satin brassiere. David Hennessey-White was panting like an animal over her shoulder.

Chapter Thirteen

AS THE BRIDE
prepared to leave the Baptist church hall to get changed and depart for her honeymoon, Charlotte gave her a hug and whispered, ‘Wonderful dress, darling.’

She would have let her pass there and then, but Edna held her arm. Charlotte beamed broadly, anything rather than look with pity at her and Colin. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw that Edna was looking at her in exactly the same way.

‘This is my new address,’ she said with a brighter expression. She slipped a note into Charlotte’s hand. ‘Bring me some material and I’ll make some more baby clothes. And I’d love to have you visit.’

They exchanged knowing looks. Charlotte ached to think how Edna must be feeling. Most brides were too wrapped up in their wedding day to think of anything or anyone else. Obviously Edna was not one of them.

‘Your chariot awaits you!’ Colin cried, coming up behind his bride in his wheelchair. Laughing, Edna fell into his lap. Charlotte waved and Edna waved back. Was
that
concern she could again see in her eyes? Wedding night nerves, Charlotte thought with a knowing smile, and remembered their conversation in the little teashop on Redcliffe Hill.

As she moved away, a woman in a royal blue suit and a squat hat with a bunch of brown leaves at the side gave her a tight smile and a sharp jerk of her head by way of greeting. Edna’s mother, if she remembered rightly. There was a suspicious look in her eyes.

In an effort to avoid holding a conversation with the woman, she deliberately turned her back and looked around for David. For a moment she couldn’t see him and half wondered whether he’d left without telling her. Quite honestly, it had surprised her that he’d agreed to come in the first place. But he’d surprised her a lot lately. The aggression he’d shown since coming back from the war was not so frequent. Instead there were long silences, periods when he would stare into space or act as though what she did and whether she was there or not were of no consequence at all. But every now and again he would explode. On such occasions she had managed to avoid the slaps to the face but not the bruises to the body.

Eventually she saw him talking to Polly, who was wearing a black and white check suit. A black pillbox hat sat at a jaunty angle on her blonde head, its veil almost reaching the end of her nose.

Just like the one I wore when I met David off the train. Oh well, isn’t copying the sincerest form of flattery?

Polly’s smile was utterly bewitching. Her chin was
down
slightly but her eyes were looking up at David in a childish, teasing fashion.

Almost like Janet flirting with those young GIs, thought Charlotte. If I didn’t know better …

The thought was carelessly flung aside as a smartly dressed man with the look of a spiv brought two glasses of brown ale to Polly’s side. The spell was broken. David took one of the drinks and thanked him. Polly adopted a rather bored expression, looked around for diversion and spotted her. Her lips smiled but there was malice in her eyes.

Polly held her head high and sashayed over, red lips smiling and teeth shining white.

Charlotte could read people. Despite Polly’s body language, there was no doubting the look in her eyes.

‘Charlotte! Nice dress old Edna was wearing. I hear you gave her the material. My, but you’re such a saintly person. I could never live up to it myself.’

‘It was the least I could do,’ said Charlotte and couldn’t help but get the feeling that she was being belittled.

‘Well, I ain’t a saint nor a nun,’ Polly went on. She winked at the two men. ‘I’ll always be wicked. Can’t help it. Can I, Billy?’

The last remark was addressed to the man she appeared to be with.

‘This is Billy Hills,’ David said. He went on to explain how he sold the toys that Colin made. Charlotte listened. At the same time she noted the change in both Polly’s speech and clothes. The latter were certainly of a higher quality than she’d worn before. When they’d first met, her
Bristolian
dialect had been thick enough to cut with a knife, ‘r’s and ‘l’s added to the ends of words and ‘aitches’ dropped all over the place.

‘An’ he’ll be back in business come Monday,’ said Billy, who made no attempt to hide his origins. He in turn went on to explain that the bride and groom were only going to Weston-super-Mare for the day and that they were retreating to their new home immediately after that. ‘It’s a nice ’ouse,’ he said. ‘Even got a little workshop at the front. Suits Colin a treat. Nice it is. Real nice. His parents know all about it. But no one’s told ’er mother.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘In fact, nobody dares!’

‘What a wonderful idea,’ said Charlotte, visibly warming to him. Billy, she decided, might be a rough diamond worn smooth, but he had a good heart. ‘This is the address, isn’t it?’ She rummaged in her pocket and brought out what she thought was the piece of paper Edna had given her.

Suddenly Billy looked awkward. ‘Yeah!’ he said quickly, glancing at it then looking swiftly away. ‘Looks like it.’

Polly’s next comment surprised her. ‘How would a bloke from the gutter like you know what “nice” is? You don’t even know how to read and write.’

With an aching heart Charlotte noticed the pain in Billy’s eyes and the faint flush that rose to his cheeks. She touched his arm gently. ‘I think it’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I also think you’re very brave.’

He looked puzzled. ‘Brave?’

Still with her hand on his arm she nodded in the
direction
of Edna’s mother. ‘I wouldn’t like to be responsible when she finds out.’ She smiled and Billy smiled with her.

Later that evening she wondered what had brought about the change in Polly’s clothes and the softening of her accent. Oh well, she thought, I can’t blame her for trying to better herself, and David was letting her do more work in the office, mostly filing and making tea, so he’d told her. But there was also a new hardness to the young woman. Polly had been overly sarcastic at the wedding, commenting that poor Billy Hills could neither read nor write.

Not my business, she said to herself, but of course everyone’s business was Charlotte’s business. It wasn’t until later that she took out the piece of paper she’d shown Billy on which should have been Edna’s new address. It wasn’t. By mistake she’d pulled out a dry-cleaning ticket. So it was really true. Billy could not read.

When they left the wedding reception, David and Charlotte made a detour up through Old Market in order to drop Polly off in York Street.

Without turning the hallway light on, Polly watched them drive away, the red car lights brightening as they paused at the junction with Midland Road.

There was a soft click as the light was turned on. Aunty Meg stood there in a dark red dressing gown, the cord hanging loose, the front edges clutched together with her hands.

‘Another man friend?’ Meg asked with a hint of disapproval.

‘Doctor Hennessey-White and Charlotte, if you must know,’ Polly retorted. ‘They went to the wedding too. Nice do it was. Fancy a cup of tea?’

Ignoring the disbelief on her aunt’s face, she swept into the kitchen. The pipes hammered as she filled the kettle under the single cold tap before slamming it down on the gas and striking the necessary match.

Aware that Meg’s eyes were on her, she hummed nonchalantly as if unaware that her aunt did not entirely approve of her lifestyle. She well knew how to disarm her.

‘Did Carol go down all right?’ she asked, warming her hands on the pot as she waited for the tea to brew.

Meg nodded. ‘She always does. You’d find that out if you were home enough.’

‘I have to make a living for us both. And I’m doing quite well. I’m a receptionist now, not a skivvy. I don’t need to live in—.’ She paused, thinking quickly. There would be times when she wanted to be away. ‘Only when Mrs Grey’s not available.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Meg accusingly, plumping herself down in a chair and folding her arms in front of her. ‘And you get paid enough to go out and buy clothes in Park Street stores, do you? And don’t try and tell me you bought that frock you’re wearin’ off some spiv on a bombsite corner!’

Polly turned and cocked her head as she always did when she had a ready-made answer. ‘It’s one of Charlotte’s cast offs. She’s very good to me like that.’

‘And I s’pose it’s her that brings you home in the early hours of the morning.’

‘Billy brings me home.’

‘In that van? Don’t make me laugh. I know the difference. I’ve heard that car before. What are you up to, Polly?’

Polly pulled in her stomach. She hated lying to Meg who’d been good to her, but what she did with her life was her business. She decided to lie.

‘Charlotte sometimes gives me a lift if I attend one of her charity functions. She asks me to help out now and again. She is a friend as well as my boss’s wife.’

Meg’s expression remained unaltered. Polly put on her brightest smile. ‘Here, drink your tea,’ she said handing her the cup.

That night she shared Meg’s bed and pretended to be asleep until her aunt was snoring gently beside her. Then she opened her eyes and smiled smugly into the darkness. Sooner or later she wouldn’t have to put up with these cramped conditions, this low class way of living, not if she played her cards right.

The ground floor rooms of the house in Kent Street had pine panelling to waist height, all painted in the hideous brown varnish so beloved of the Victorians because it didn’t show the dirt.

Cooking was done on a cast-iron range, which sat in the fireplace like a fat black spider. This room was to serve as both kitchen and living room. The shop was at the front and the bedroom was sandwiched between the two. Up above were two more rooms, both with bare board floors and devoid of furniture. The lavatory was at the end of the garden and a tin bath hung on the outside back wall.

It was less than Edna was used to but she loved it all the same. ‘I’ll make it look like a palace,’ she had promised Colin. And she’d done her best to do that. Net curtains hung at sparkling windows. The furniture was old, the chair stuffed with horsehair and covered in leather, the table of well-scrubbed pine and scarred from the blows of many a carving knife or meat cleaver.

Colin removed all his tools to the new house, swearing his parents to secrecy and to ignorance once the truth was disclosed to Edna’s mother.

The shop in which he could now both make and display his toys was warm and welcoming. At one side was a stack of empty shelves. ‘They’ll all be packed with stuff by Christmas,’ he stated with confidence. And Edna believed him.

Despite the fact that Sherman was still on her mind, she was enjoying setting up her own home, being able to do what she wanted without her mother lurking and looking, asking questions with her eyes that Edna did not want to answer.

But all the same she knew her need to see Sherman again would not go away. No matter if, for some reason, she were never to see him until he was fully grown, the need would still be there.

On their wedding night she had cried. As they’d made love to suit Colin’s physical shortcomings, she had wanted to roll back the years, to obliterate the fact that Adolf Hitler had ever lived. Things might have been so different. But her tears were not just about their lovemaking. It was also about bravery, guilt and the need to be
loved
. Would she have chanced telling Colin about Sherman if he hadn’t had his legs blown off? Perhaps so; somehow a man uninjured by war seemed more capable of coping. But then, if there’d been no Hitler and no war there would have been no Sherman and, despite everything, she was glad he was alive. If only she could find the courage to tell Colin all about it. But she couldn’t.

‘Last item on the agenda, but by no means least, a vote of thanks for the continuing supply of clothes for our children.’

The speaker, Mr Nathaniel Partridge, lately of the Provincial Bank, now retired and Chairman of the Trustees of the Muller Orphanage, looked directly at Charlotte who was sitting to his left. ‘Mrs Hennessey-White, do keep up the good work.’

The assembled trustees, matrons wearing fox furs and large hats, retired professional men, bankers, clergymen and military, clapped politely. Charlotte returned their fixed smiles and murmured the expected ‘thank you’.

‘Hear, hear,’ said one of the elderly trustees whose hat, despite it being late May, was trimmed with fur rather than flowers. ‘If I may speak, Mr Chairman …’