Darkest Before Dawn (49 page)

‘Well, no, I won't,' Evie said, rather aggressively. ‘Just what
does
a signalman do when he wants to get married?'

Toby laughed. They were sitting side by side on the couch, with a small table before them upon which the cards were spread out. He put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a quick hug and then, to her astonishment, gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘They look for a cottage to rent, because a wife needs her own home, I suppose,' he said. ‘And I expect they put in for a signal box in a less lonely part of the line where it's possible to get such accommodation. But why are you so interested, little Evie?'

‘I'm interested in you because you're one of our oldest friends,' Evie said thoughtfully, aware that her cheeks were warming and might give her away. ‘And I'm interested in the railway because I suppose it's a bit like the canal. Oh, I know a canal is far less complicated – no points, or signals, or anything of that nature, just bridges and locks and tunnels to be negotiated – but they are alike in a way, you know; they're both means of transporting goods from one place to another.'

Toby laughed again and rumpled her hair. ‘Yes, I suppose you've got a point,' he said. ‘Do you plan to go back on the canal one of these days, Evie? Not that it's much of a career for a clever kid like you.'

‘Toby, I am not a kid,' Evie said, trying for dignity. ‘I know I'm not as tall as either of my sisters, but I am eighteen, you know. A young lady, in fact, so don't go calling me a kid again or I'll give you a knuckle sandwich.'

Toby laughed, and squeezed her again before releasing her. ‘Young lady or no, you're a right caution, Evie Todd,' he told her. ‘And since I'm to be off early in the morning, we'd best get to bed.'

‘Right,' Evie said. ‘I'll be coming to the station with you tomorrow so I'll get up early and bring you a nice cup of tea to start your day off right.'

It was still dark when Toby and Evie reached Lime Street station, but there were quite a number of people about. The two of them went to the refreshment room and had tea and toast, and chatted until Toby's train pulled alongside the platform. The bicycle was chained up outside, so Toby unlocked it and the two of them made for the guard's van. They got the bicycle aboard and then Toby found himself a seat. It was a corridor train and he accompanied Evie back to the platform, glancing at the station clock. ‘If your offices aren't open yet, you'd best go back to the refreshment room after you've seen me off and have another cup of tea and some more toast,' he advised. ‘And don't forget to write often, because I love getting your letters, I really do. And there's a telephone box in the village, so I'll try and give you a ring a couple of times a month. And just you take care of yourself,' he added.

Evie was touched by his reference to her letters and agreed to go back to the refreshment room. She descended on to the platform since the guard was coming along slamming doors, and when he had passed Toby let the window down and leaned out. Then he caught her in his arms and kissed her soundly on the mouth. ‘Thanks for a wonderful two days,' he said huskily. ‘Oh, Evie, you're the nicest kid . . . I mean young lady . . . I've ever met. Take care of yourself, and remember, I'll be thinking of you. I really . . .'

But at this moment the guard blew his whistle and called to Evie to stand back, and the train began to move. Toby was shouting something but she couldn't hear what it was. Sighing, she stood on the platform and watched the train – and Toby's waving figure – until it dwindled from sight.

It was not until she was seated in the refreshment room, telling herself that his kiss had meant nothing, had been merely that of a friend who had enjoyed a little holiday with her, that she guiltily acknowledged that her own feelings for Toby were no longer merely friendship. She had hero-worshipped him when she was a little girl, and now that she was older she had been and gone and fallen in love with him. Of course, he was Seraphina's young man and her sister was so beautiful that she, Evie, stood no chance, but that no longer mattered. She would love Toby until her dying day, whether he married her sister or someone else, and she found a certain relief in acknowledging it.

‘Your order, miss.' The plump lady in the crisp white overall, standing beside the table with a plate of hot buttered toast, beamed at Evie as she stared blankly up at her. ‘Seein' your sweetheart off, was you? Ah well, the war's over now, so I dare say you'll be seeing him again quite soon.'

Evie took the toast but shook her head. ‘He's not my sweetheart,' she said, her voice very low. ‘He's – he's just a friend.'

The woman smiled knowingly. ‘The way he hung on to you and kissed you when the train was starting to draw out looked more like a sweetheart than a pal,' she observed. ‘Enjoy your toast.'

Toby continued to lean out of the window and wave until the little figure was out of sight. He realised he had nearly made a great fool of himself, nearly told her how important she had become to him. He had kissed her on impulse and for a moment had imagined that her lips had clung to his, that she had begun to melt in his arms, but that had been wishful thinking, of course. Every morning, he looked into his shaving mirror and saw the great livid scar which disfigured his thin, hollow-eyed face, and knew that no woman, not even loving little Evie Todd, could want to wake up each morning to find such a face on the pillow beside her.

When he had first returned to England, he had realised, with astonishment, that the love which he had imagined he felt for Seraphina had simply disappeared. He should have known it ages before, of course, during his years of captivity, when he had found himself unable to envisage her face, unable to see in his imagination the beauty which he knew existed. He had tried hard enough, goodness knows. He had conjured up rich corn-coloured hair, milky skin, eyes blue as sapphires and a rosy, kissable mouth, yet when he had tried to put them all together . . . well, he just couldn't, that was all.

On the other hand, Evie's small, brown, unremarkable face had never been far from his mind and he had dreamed of her often. Of course, he had thought of her as a child, but now, home again once more and meeting her on equal terms, he knew that she was a young woman, and a delightful, desirable one at that. But not for him. No, not for him. He was years older than her, scarred, disillusioned, and still without any real ambition. No, he wasn't a good subject for marriage, not with anyone. He knew, now, that Seraphina had never had any strong feelings for him, save those of friendship, and that he had never truly loved her, either. If he had done so, they would not have fallen out in the first place, for what sort of man did not write letters to the girl he was supposed to love?

Sitting there in the stuffy railway carriage, he thought about the sisters. They were grand girls, all three of them, and he was sure that Evie would marry, as Angela and Seraphina had done. He knew, of course, that Seraphina was awaiting a divorce, but he knew, too, that she would marry again. As for Evie, he supposed she would give in to the blandishments of Percy Baldwin, and even as the thought entered his head he found himself wanting to punch Percy on the nose, grab him by the collar and chuck him into the Mersey, do anything but let him marry Evie.

Startled at the violence of his own feelings, he reminded himself that he had no chance in that direction, no chance at all. She was too young, too lively, too sought after. He leaned back in his seat and turned his thoughts to the work he was about to start. Marriage was for other men; men not scarred either physically or mentally by a long and brutal war. Determinedly, Toby began to think about signals, points, semaphore and similar matters.

When Seraphina had written to say she would be coming home for Christmas and would be bringing a pal, Martha had concluded, understandably she felt, that the pal would be a fellow teacher, someone at the same school as her daughter. She had written back immediately, of course, reminding Seraphina that they had no spare room and that she, her friend and Evie would have to have camp beds in the stockroom because at Christmas it would be far too complicated to have them sleeping in the living room.

That had been earlier in December and Seraphina had rung the very next day to assure her mother that her pal would not expect to be put up in the Wilmslows' flat but had already booked a room in a small guesthouse not far from the Scottie.

Martha had been relieved, and grateful, but then the pips had gone and somehow she had never got round to any further discussion of Seraphina's friend.

So when, on 23 December, the door had opened and Seraphina had entered the shop Martha had not, at first, realised that the extraordinarily plain young man who had followed Seraphina inside was the ‘pal' her daughter had mentioned. The shop was crowded with women getting their rations in before Christmas, and Seraphina had to push her way between them, apologising as she did so. She reached the counter and she and her mother hugged briefly across its width. Then Seraphina turned and grabbed the sleeve of the plain young man in air force uniform. ‘Ma, this is Eddie Harding, the friend I told you about,' she said, rather breathlessly. ‘We stopped off at the guesthouse and left his case there and I thought we'd buy fish and chips for everyone's supper tonight, unless you've got something planned? But right now we're gasping for a cup of tea; is it all right if I go up and make one for us and bring a couple of cups down for you and Uncle Arthur?'

Martha was so busy staring at Eddie Harding that there was an appreciable pause before she answered. ‘Yes, of course it's all right . . . and Arthur and I could just do with a cuppa,' she gabbled. ‘How d'you do, Mr Harding? Oh, I'm so sorry, you'll think I'm most dreadfully rude, but Seraphina never told us . . . I mean, I thought you'd be arriving much later . . . and I didn't realise you were – you were such an old friend . . . I mean, she didn't say she'd known you during the war . . .'

The young man was grinning and blushing, holding out his hand and then dropping it back to his side as he realised Martha could not possibly reach him from where she stood. ‘It's all right, Mrs Wilmslow,' he said, in a deep and pleasant voice. ‘I guess there are quite a lot of things Fee hasn't liked to mention, which is why I'm here now. But I can see you're extremely busy so we'd best leave explanations until the shop is closed.' He had taken his cap off when he had entered the shop but now he stuck it on the back of his head in order to pick up Seraphina's suitcase and have a hand free to put into the crook of her arm. ‘Is it all right if we go up to your flat now?'

‘Of course, of course,' Martha said quickly. She glanced across to where Arthur was diligently taking down an order and putting the required items into a box as he did so. ‘I'd introduce you to my husband, but as you can see we're rushed off our feet at present. Mrs Bunwell, who helps out as a rule, has gone off to do some Christmas shopping of her own, so we're rather short-handed.'

‘Oh, it's all right, Ma, we understand,' Seraphina said, rather impatiently. ‘Can we go through this way? Only it's so much quicker than traipsing right down the Scottie until we reach the jigger and then having to come all the way back again just to reach the rear door.'

‘Yes, of course you can,' Martha said, and watched her daughter's back disappear with something very like relief. She glanced across at Arthur and saw he was looking as surprised as she felt, then chided herself for her foolishness. She should have guessed that her beautiful, lively daughter would have men buzzing round her like bees round a honeypot. A happy and successful marriage would have put a stop to that sort of thing, but she had known for a long time that Seraphina's marriage was neither happy nor successful. In the circumstances, it was not surprising that Seraphina had acquired a boyfriend. Now, with her divorce looming, she must be considering remarriage and, being a dutiful daughter, wanted her mother, and the rest of the family, to meet the young man concerned.

‘Thank you, Mrs Buxton, and if you don't come in before, have a lovely Christmas,' Martha said as her customer picked up her stout American cloth bag and turned to leave the shop. ‘Yes, Mrs Higgins, what can I do for you?'

Christmas had been a success, Martha decided, as she saw her daughter and Eddie off at the end of their week's stay. Everyone liked Eddie and it had been nice to see Seraphina happy and relaxed. The couple had made no secret of their affection for one another, though Seraphina had explained to Martha that she and Eddie did not mean their friendship to stand in the way of her obtaining her divorce. ‘But it won't be long now, it's just a matter of formalities really,' she had said jubilantly. ‘Then I shall give my school a term's notice, which is only fair, and after that we mean to have a quiet wedding.'

‘It's a wicked shame that it can't be solemnized in church,' Martha had said, rather wistfully. ‘But of course that's impossible.' She smiled at her daughter. ‘Poor Fee, the war ruined your chance of a white wedding the first time round, and your previous marriage has spoiled your chance this time.'

Seraphina had beamed at her mother. ‘I don't care if we marry in sackcloth and ashes, so long as we can be together,' she admitted. ‘I'd love little Evie to be a bridesmaid, but so long as she comes to the wedding . . .'

Martha's eyebrows had risen almost into her hair. ‘Of course she'll come to the wedding, as will anyone else from round here that you invite,' she said. ‘What made you sound so doubtful?'

Seraphina had smiled. ‘My little sister thinks I ought to marry Toby; can't imagine anyone not being in love with him,' she explained. ‘It's odd, because she really likes Eddie, she told me so, yet when I said that we were getting married she muttered something about not making up my mind too quickly and it's being unfair not to give Toby a chance. Still, she'll grow up one of these days and realise there's more to love than long acquaintance.'