Whisper on the Wind (15 page)

Polly Appleby alone was in possession of the facts for she had got them from Home Farm’s landgirl when she left the milk. Peddlesbury
had
been hit; two bombs on the runway but, apart from a lot of broken window panes, no one hurt. And Kath should know, since Peacock Hey was nearer to the aerodrome than Alderby.

Polly said as much to Hester Fairchild. ‘Could have been a whole lot worse,’ she said, fastening her pinafore. ‘Kath knows all about bombing, poor lass; thought she’d be safe in the country, I shouldn’t wonder. But it only goes to show that nobody’s safe these days from them dratted bombers.’

‘It was only a hit-and-run,’ Hester observed mildly, ‘and this time no one was hurt. We should be thankful for small mercies. Did you know that Kathleen came to tea yesterday? A nice girl. She’ll be good for Roz. Roz needs more young company than she’s getting.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Polly frowned, filling the kettle, setting it to boil. Roz was getting more company than her grandmother supposed. Polly had thought a lot about what Arnie told her, first deciding that it was nothing at all to do with anyone, then wavering, because Roz had been gently reared and happen it would do no harm if someone were to have a word with the lass. Just a gentle reminder about –
things.

At that point she had shut out such thoughts at once. Even though it was a known fact that blood ran hotter in times of war, it wasn’t for Polly Appleby to sit in judgement on anybody’s morals. And who was to say that young Roz’s morals were in need of judging? She was surprised, therefore, to hear herself say, ‘The lass doesn’t do so badly for young company.’ She bit hard on her tongue. ‘Well, she goes to the dances with the rest of the village and –’

Her cheeks were burning, she knew it. Mrs Fairchild was looking at her in
that
way, and if she wasn’t careful the cat would be out of the bag.

‘And, Poll?’

‘And
nowt
, ma’am,’ came the too-sharp, too-ready reply.

‘What do you know that I don’t – that you
think
I don’t know?’

Polly turned, arms folded defensively across her middle. She had said too much.

‘Gossip,’ she said truculently. ‘Nowt but gossip, ma’am.’

‘About whom?’

‘I don’t like, ma’am. You know me. I don’t tittle-tattle about what’s none of my business.’

‘Poll, something’s troubling you and I know it’s nothing to do with Arnie.’

‘No. Not Arnie.’ Drat the woman and her probing.

‘Then let’s sit down and drink our tea and have a talk about it.’

‘There’s nowt worth the telling.’

‘Oh, but there is! You and I have known each other a long time and you only call me
ma’am
when you’re cross or worried. Will you pour, Poll?’

Sighing deeply, Polly did as she was asked. There was no escaping it now. Mrs Fairchild was a deep one and she’d not rest till she knew every last word of it.

‘It was nowt nor summat, really, and to tell the truth it wasn’t village talk, though if Arnie knows about it happen the village knows about it, an’ all. And I suppose it’s best coming from me; best you don’t hear it second-hand.

‘It’s Roz, you see. Arnie said he’d seen her with an airman from Peddlesbury. Twice. And that’s all I know, ’cept that Arnie said the airman had gone on leave.’

‘Then Arnie might well be right,’ Hester said softly, ‘because for the past week Roz hasn’t been out at all, nights. It fits, I’m afraid. It all adds up. I’ve thought for quite some time that she’s been meeting someone, and now I know.’

‘Not for sure, you don’t. Not for sure, ma’am, save that Roz might’ve met the same young man twice and perhaps danced with him a time or two. But you knew about the dances.’

‘Of course I knew. All Alderby goes to the Friday dances. It’s the other nights we’re talking about, Poll.’

‘Then you’d best tackle her about it.’

‘How, will you tell me? Do I blunder in like an idiot, demand to know who she’s been with and what she’s doing?’

‘You could, though I doubt it’d get you very far. Stubborn, that one can be and we both know it. But how you’re going to do it without causing an upset, I don’t know. You’re the one who’s good at things like that; you’ll have to find a way. The lass needs to be told. She’s got to know about such things, how easy they can happen and where they can lead. She’s your lass, and it’s up to you to tell her about – well,
things.
’

‘But she’s a country-bred girl, Poll. She knows about
things.
’

‘She knows about animals and wild creatures; happen it’s high time she knew it’s much the same for folk.’

‘Tch!’ Hester clucked. ‘I wish we’d never brought the subject up.’

‘Oh, aye? Wish we’d stuck our heads in the sand and hoped it would go away, then?’

‘No. You’re right,’ Hester whispered, fidgeting with the chain at her neck. ‘It won’t go away. Roz is meeting someone and I know she doesn’t tell me the truth about where she is. That’s the worrying part of it; the untruths. I’ve asked where she’s going and when she’ll be in but she never gives a straight answer. I know my own granddaughter and when she’s lying to me. For all that, though, I can’t risk asking her outright – and being told more lies for my pains. That, I just couldn’t take.

‘So I shall leave it for the time being and hope she’ll tell me. And maybe it isn’t all that serious. Maybe she’ll have a lot of boyfriends before she meets the right one. Perhaps then she’ll tell me about him, and bring him home to meet me.’

‘You’re taking it very calmly I must say.’ Polly sniffed.

‘What other way is there? Now tell me, what did young Arnie make of the bombing, yesterday?’

Arnie? They were talking about Arnie, now? The matter of Roz was closed.

‘Arnie? Oh, the young monkey enjoyed it. ’Twas all I could do to stop him racing off to see if he could find any pieces of shrapnel. You know what lads are like.’ She rose stiffly to her feet. ‘Ah, well. Think I’ll get the boiler going for the washing, then I’ll give the little sitting-room a bit of a going-over.’

She said it sadly, because things were out in the open, now. The problem was far from being solved, but at least it had been given an airing. It was a question of wait and see, and all because of the Mistress and her stiff-necked pride.

But waiting would do no good at all, because Roz was heading for trouble and heartache; Polly knew it, and she didn’t like it. Not one little bit!

The Peddlesbury raid was over and forgotten and a five-minute wonder, folk said, though they’d been shocked at the suddenness of it, with no time for the alert to be sounded. Nasty, how that Heinkel had managed to sneak in, but count your blessings, they said; no one hurt, this time. And the damage to the runway could easily be repaired, though not too quickly, Kath hoped, since Roz had said it was more the pity that all three bombs hadn’t dropped there, and made a proper job of it.

Today Roz was happy. Tomorrow Paul would return from leave and her world would be perfect – until the runway was seen to, that was, and the Lancasters able to take off again.

She must, Kath decided, include Paul in her Sunday prayers. Kath prayed often – a habit, really. Prayers all the time at the orphanage and obligatory church attendance during her in-service years – and in her own time, too. But her prayers held substance now, because she had someone of her own to spend them on: Barney and Roz and everyone at Home Farm. And Paul, too.

Funny how almost everyone went to church these days. It had taken a war to fill the churches, for now almost everyone had someone to commend to divine keeping; everyone had urgent need to beg the Almighty to choose between them and us, and let our side win.

She still regretted not being married in church. To Kath, a church wedding was more permanent somehow, but their small wedding-party would have seemed out of place in such a great loftiness. Only she and Barney there had been, and Barney’s reluctant mother and Sylvia who worked at the house next door, and Barney’s witness. The Registrar too, of course. Short and businesslike, their joining; a lonely wedding, really. Lonely, but legal.

But this was not a day to think too much on what might have been; this was a rare day that hinted of spring to come. This day was warm from the touch of a wind from the south and a sky so blue it could have been stolen from April. A weather-breeder Mat said it was, and not to be trusted.

Kath held her face to the sun, walking carefully with the near-full jug held between gloved hands.

‘Pop over with Marco’s drinkings, there’s a good lass,’ Grace had asked. ‘What with Jonty away to the farrier’s and Mat wasting his time at the War Ag. and Roz seeing to the calves –’ Best keep Roz and Marco apart as much as possible, Grace had long ago decided; best not upset the Mistress more than need be. ‘He’s working at the game-cover; take along a mug for yourself and have five minutes in the sun. Lord knows, it’ll likely be snowing tomorrow.’

The prisoner was working alone, cutting down the smaller, spindly trees in the little wood, dragging them clear with the tractor, stacking them against the time they could be chopped into logs and laid to dry for next winter’s burning.

‘Marco! How’s it coming along?’

‘I think we finish, on time. This scrub makes trouble, but we manage okay.’

‘Jonty said you’d drag the tree roots out with the tractor.’

‘
Si.
We fix a chain.’ Smiling, he took the mug she had filled for him. ‘You stay, Kat?’

‘For five minutes.’ She settled herself beside him. ‘Jonty’s taken Duke to the smithy to be shod. I asked him if he’d bring back one of the old shoes for me – for a souvenir, and for luck. In this country a horseshoe brings luck, you see.’

‘In my country, also. But this morning you smile, Kat. You have had a letter?’

‘No. Not for a week. I think I’m smiling because it’s such a lovely day.’

‘And tomorrow, maybe, a letter come and you smile some more.’

‘Well – at the moment I’m afraid I’m not looking forward to letters. I’m afraid that I – well, I deceived my husband, and –’

‘Deceive him? You have a lover?’

‘No! Nothing like that!’ Why had she started this conversation?

‘You tell him lies, then?’

‘Not even lies. I’m just not, I suppose, telling him the truth.’

‘There is a difference?’

‘There’s a difference, Marco.’ She had said too much; talked about things that should be private between man and wife, talked about them what was more to one who was an enemy. ‘Five minutes, Grace said. I’d better go. Bring the jug back later, will you?’

‘No, Kat. Wait!’ He took her hand and she didn’t know whether to snatch it away, or leave it. ‘You must tell me why you do not speak the whole truth. If you have sadness it is best you talk about it.’

‘All right, then.’ She took a deep, defiant breath. ‘When I write to my husband it isn’t what I write but what I
don’t
write. I don’t tell him things because he’d be annoyed with me. I haven’t told him about you, yet. I can’t, because he doesn’t like –’

She pulled in her breath sharply, wincing at her stupidity, closing her eyes tightly as if to block out the words.

‘He does not like Italians and I am Italian, and working here?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And?’ he prompted softly, his eyes on hers.

‘And I can’t tell him that Jonty isn’t in the forces; that a man so young is still a civilian. He thinks all young men should be called up.’

‘Your husband is a strange man, Kat.’

‘No! That isn’t true. It’s just that he feels strongly about things. And I’ve upset him, too, because I joined the Land Army without asking him. He doesn’t like to see women in uniform. Well, you wouldn’t like it either, would you?’

‘If I had a wife and she went to work in the fields for her country, I would be proud of her. Your man spends much time being angry. It is not good.’

‘No,’ she whispered, eyes downcast.

‘It is not good that he makes you sad; not good he does not trust you, though that is to be understood. He is jealous, you see, because his wife is beautiful and he fears other men will admire her.’

‘I’m
not
beautiful! I’m – oh, we shouldn’t be talking like this!’

‘No, we should not. This morning, you see, I have a letter from home. My mother is much sad. She writes that my cousin Toni is missing. Toni is a soldier, fighting in the desert. My aunt fears he is dead.’

‘Marco, I’m so sorry. Wars are wrong, and cruel!’ And that was a strange thing to come out with, wasn’t it, to one who was her sworn enemy. But what else was there to say – that they should have stayed out of the war, not thrown in their lot with the Germans nor invaded Abyssinia, either. But young men like Toni and Barney and Paul and Marco didn’t start the wars – only fought them. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ she whispered, ‘and especially for your aunt. My worries are nothing compared to hers.’

‘
Si.
Is called making a big hill from a little hill, yes?’

‘A mountain out of a molehill,’ she said, smiling gently. ‘And you
will
forget what I told you? It’ll work out. I know it will.’

He watched her walk away; watched her until she was out of sight.