A Mistletoe Kiss (37 page)

Mrs Preece finished her porridge and took a couple
of sips of the tea Agatha had poured out. ‘Well, if you're sure you don't mind,' she said, jerking a thumb at the Welsh dresser. ‘I left my shoes and stockings down there last night; Mrs Simpson helped me off with them – and my corset – before she went on duty.' She gave her daughter a quick glance from under lowered lids, reminding Agatha of a puppy which has chewed your shoes in the night but doesn't know whether you have yet found the remains. ‘Then I can read Hetty's letter when you come home this evening. Eh, how I miss that child!'

Agatha sighed. ‘You know very well, Mother, that the letter's addressed to me, but of course I'll be happy to read most of it to you. Only Hetty isn't a child any more, but a young woman, and she may have written things she would rather I kept to myself.'

Mrs Preece pouted. ‘I'm a married woman and know about such matters, which is more than you can say of yourself, Agatha Preece,' she muttered. Then, when Agatha did not reply, she gave a little laugh. ‘All right, all right, I understand what you're saying. And now let's change the subject. Have you made me a list for shopping? If Mrs Simpson is free this afternoon, she'll come with me.' She looked hopefully at the letter, still sticking out of her daughter's pocket. ‘I wonder if Hetty'll manage to get some time off soon. I know you wrote and invited her to use our spare room when she's on leave now that her aunt lives over the water, and it would be a real treat to see that happy little face again.'

‘Leave's a bit difficult, because she isn't officially
either fish, fowl or good red herring,' Agatha reminded her mother. ‘There are several boats manned by girls who are paid by the government, but they aren't in any of the services. Still, she said in her last letter that she might get away for a week now the weather's so good, so maybe she's writing to tell us when she's coming back.'

Mrs Preece brightened. ‘Why don't you just open the letter and see whether she mentions a date?' she suggested. ‘It wouldn't take but a minute and it'll save me spending hours wondering how our little Hetty is getting on and whether we'll be seeing her soon.'

Agatha had walked over to the Welsh dresser and fetched her mother's shoes and stockings. Now she knelt down, put on the stockings and her mother's pink garters, buckled the shoes, and got awkwardly to her feet. Then she dug her hand into her pocket, produced the letter, opened it and swiftly scanned the three pages covered in Hetty's round, childish handwriting before meeting her mother's anxious gaze. ‘Well, she is getting four or five days off, but I doubt whether we shall see her for more than a couple of hours, if that,' she said regretfully. ‘She'll spend a couple of days in Birkenhead with her aunt and uncle and then go on to Burscough to see her grandparents. They are getting on and with leave so difficult, and her time so short, she really should spend most if not all of it with them.'

Mrs Preece sighed. ‘I felt sure we'd be seeing her at any moment; it's been months since she was here last,'
she said. ‘But she's bound to get proper leave soon, I trust.'

Leaving the house, Agatha hurried along Everton Terrace. She was longing to read Hetty's letter and knew that once the library was open to the public she would be too busy to take time out for her personal correspondence. Despite fire-watching, she and Mr Gower always arrived at least fifteen or twenty minutes before the official opening time so that they could prepare for the day ahead, and today, Agatha decided, she would read the letter before she did anything else. She knew the library was tidy, the books in their correct places on the shelves, the stamp already turned to today's date, and the mugs which she and Mr Gower used for their tea washed up and ready. Because of the increase in readers the authority had appointed Mrs Evelyn Hibbert, a widow in her forties, to assist Mr Gower and Miss Preece, and she had settled down and admitted to Agatha that she already loved the job. She lived locally and knew most of the library members, soon grew at ease with Agatha and regarded Mr Gower with deference verging on awe, whilst he treated her with cautious approval. Now it was Mrs Hibbert who made tea or coffee, brushed and dusted, and even stamped the outgoing volumes. She held the fort for Mr Gower when Agatha was rushed off her feet and he came down to help out, and had become a prized member of their little team. Agatha told her mother that she thought Mr Gower had been a little stiff and starchy with Mrs Hibbert at first because she was not, as he pointed out, a trained
librarian. However, now that he had grown accustomed to her presence, he was actually beginning to regard their new recruit with approval, which could only be good.

Now, Agatha reached the library and undid the metal gates, climbed the steps, unlocked the glass doors and let herself in. Then she sat down behind the counter, took out her letter and began to read.

Dear Agatha
,

Things are hotting up at last! Ever since the BEF were brought back from Dunkirk in June, and the powers that be began to fear an invasion, Gareth has been trying to get a posting to what he calls an operational station and now he thinks he may get his wish. He went on the course to learn about bombers – I told you about it in one of my letters – and passed with flying colours. He came back here for a bit but now his posting has arrived (to RAF Scampton, in Lincolnshire). I shall miss him, but I think it's probably a good thing because as I know I've told you before, he's been getting a lot too serious. Ever since we fished him out of the canal, he's kept track of the
Shamrock
and always turned up when we got near Heyford. It's been great fun in some ways to have a fellow to take me dancing, or to the flicks, but it's been getting more and more difficult to keep him at arm's length. Well, not quite that, because we do kiss and have a bit of a cuddle, but that's because I've not wanted to hurt him by telling him to back off. In fact I don't deny I like him a lot, more than any of the other fellows
I've danced – and flirted! – with, and if it wasn't for someone I met a long time ago, I might fool myself into believing that I love him. But I keep thinking about the man I met on my way home from Llandudno, where your mother had been playing whist. Do you remember my strange encounter? I can't forget that fellow, the one who brought me home, no matter how I try. I know you'll say I can't possibly be in love with someone I only met once and whose name I don't even know and honestly, Agatha, I think that's true. I'm
not
in love with him, that would be quite absurd, but even writing about him, as I'm doing now, gives me a strange sort of thrill and I'm ashamed to admit that though I enjoy it when Gareth kisses me, I don't get that weird sensation, almost as if the world has stopped turning, which comes whenever I think about my mysterious motorcyclist
.

So you see it wouldn't be fair to Gareth to start pretending I'm serious when I know really that I'm not. He's a friend, and a good one, a very special friend, but that's all, so when he goes off to some station miles away it will be a good thing, even though I'll miss him
.

Now, to change the subject completely, you asked in your last letter when you might expect to see me. I've got four days' leave coming up but I shall spend it half with Aunt Phoebe and half with Gran and Gramps at Burscough …

Agatha skipped the rest of the paragraph, having read it closely earlier in the day, then continued to read.

As you can imagine, approaching London on the canal is pretty scary because the bombing seems fairly continuous when the nights are clear. It's not so bad now, and we've been most awfully lucky since the Luftwaffe could cause absolute mayhem if they chose to target the canals, but they've not done so yet, at any rate, and of course we never tie up for long near the capital – or any big cities, for that matter. And in between towns and cities, the countryside is magical. The corn is being cut and the foxgloves and meadowsweet send wafts of perfume across to us as we pass, and we've made lots of friends, both amongst the boaters, as the canal folk call themselves, and the farmers and villagers whose homes and businesses we pass on our way. So don't think of us as unfortunate, because we're anything but; neither Sally, Alice or myself would change our lot for that of anyone else at all!

Well, I suppose I'd better sign off and get some work done, but write back as soon as you can. Dear Agatha, I wish I were as fond of Gareth as you are of your Max – don't try to deny it, just be thankful – but it is not to be. Take good care of yourself and as soon as the Inland Waterway people get their act together we have been promised leave and I'll make my way to Everton like a pin to a magnet
.

Ever yours
,

Hetty

‘What on earth are you carrying with such care?' Mr Gower asked as Agatha crossed the library floor, heading for the Reading Room. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It's not time for elevenses yet, is it? Not that you're likely to take our elevenses into the Reading Room when the front counter is so busy. Why, even the Reference Library has readers, though they're mainly old hands who know what they're doing and don't need a lot of help from me.'

Agatha turned to him, her face lighting up, and Mr Gower thought, not for the first time lately, that Miss Preece was becoming almost pretty, which was strange when you came to think, since she was working harder than she had ever done. The library was busy now from the moment it opened until they closed. Then of course both she and Mr Gower would hurry to their homes, get a meal of sorts, and take up their posts as fire-watchers or, in Miss Preece's case, sometimes helping in the mobile canteens which serviced the workers throughout the night.

‘Miss Preece? Whatever are you carrying?' Mr Gower repeated, his curiosity thoroughly aroused. ‘My next door neighbour does our shopping and she spotted that Sample's had a good supply of ginger nuts. She knows how fond Mother is of biscuits, so she bought as many as the shop assistant would let her have. I know you like them as well – as indeed do I – so I brought a bag of them to work; they're in the office awaiting your pleasure. Don't say you've bought some as well!'

Miss Preece laughed, then came towards him to show him what she was holding so carefully. ‘It's the first sign of spring I always say when the crocuses come out under our apple tree,' she said gaily. ‘I put these corms in a pot last autumn and stood the pot in a sheltered corner. I thought it would be nice to put them on the windowsill in the Reading Room; it'll cheer the place up, and since I'm feeling very cheerful, it seemed appropriate.'

Mr Gower looked admiringly at the shallow blue china pot held so carefully between his fellow librarian's hands. The crocuses, purple, gold and white, were indeed a delightful sight, and he was tempted to tell Miss Preece that the flowers were not the only attractive things about to enter the Reading Room; she herself, with her shining bob of black hair, her dark blue eyes and her flushed cheeks, looked to Mr Gower every bit as lovely as the crocuses.

He opened his mouth to say so, but his courage failed him; to be snubbed would ruin the careful, friendly relationship he was building up, so he waited whilst Miss Preece looked around the Reading Room and obviously decided that it was not a suitable place for her beautiful bowl of flowers. She carried them back into the lending library and put them on the extreme end of the counter, whereupon Mr Gower suggested that he might join her, since he was not busy, and could date-stamp the books going out whilst she checked those being returned.

Miss Preece agreed at once, giving him a look so grateful that it encouraged him to ask the question
which burned on his lips. ‘You're looking very happy, Miss Preece. Has something nice happened?'

He half expected to see her face change into the forbidding mask which had once greeted any attempt of his to ask her a question, but she gave him a flashing smile as they went behind the counter and began to work. ‘I've had a cablegram from South Africa, from Professor Galera. He's coming home!'

Mr Gower felt his heart thud into his boots, but when he spoke, his voice emerged calmly. ‘Well now, isn't that good news,' he said. ‘No doubt we'll be seeing him any day.'

‘Well, no, because he could be posted just about anywhere in Great Britain,' Miss Preece said regretfully. ‘He'll still be training pilots, I gather, and not flying sorties, which is a relief because that is so horribly dangerous, but training airfields, I gather, are usually in remote areas. Still, I expect he'll come to Liverpool at some stage.'

‘Oh, bound to,' Mr Gower said gloomily. ‘Bound to come and see you. Well, isn't that nice. No wonder you're excited!'

‘Isn't life strange?' Agatha enquired of her mother that evening as the two of them sat in the kitchen, eating the excellent vegetable pie that Mrs Simpson had made them earlier in the day.

Mrs Preece took a mouthful of food and answered thickly. ‘What's strange? I say, Agatha, Mrs Simpson is a grand cook. If I didn't know better, I'd think this pie was a pre-war one, stuffed with stewing steak.'

The pie was named after its creator, Lord Woolton, and Mrs Simpson had begged bones from her butcher with which she had made a delicious stock. This she had thickened with Bisto powder and added to the vegetables, making the result a good deal tastier than the original recipe, and much enjoyed both by the Simpsons and the Preeces. ‘What's strange is that I've been pouncing on my letters from both Max and Hetty, hoping that one or other of them would be coming home soon,' Agatha said, ‘and now Hetty thinks the Inland Waterways Authority are giving her and her crew at least ten days' leave, and Max is being brought back to England so that he can train pilots actually on the spot. Wouldn't you say that that was quite a coincidence?'