Keep Smiling Through (21 page)

‘He’ll be delighted,’ she replied softly. ‘He asked me to find a nice juicy treat for your dog as soon as I settle in. Harvey, isn’t it?’ At his nod, she continued. ‘We have dogs at home, and I think Christopher found Harvey such a comfort.’

‘Aye, he’s a good old dog, so he is, and he’ll be glad of a bit of a treat, so he will.’

The swing doors crashed open, they both turned, and the atmosphere on the ward was suddenly electric with alarmed anticipation.

‘Oh, dear, she muttered. ‘It looks as if we’ve been discovered.’ She swiftly gripped his hand. ‘Leave me to do the talking,’ she said urgently. ‘I know how to handle women like Matron Billings.’

Ron lay back on the pillows as Sylvia Anstruther-Norton stood to meet the woman who was determinedly marching towards them. This could be interesting.

‘Lady Anstruther-Norton,’ boomed Matron. ‘You should have told me you wanted to visit the wards, and I would have escorted you.’

‘My dear Matron,’ replied Sylvia with a beaming smile. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your important schedule when I am quite capable of finding my way round your hospital.’

So, she
was
royalty, thought Ron – or as near as damn it – and Matron was clearly flustered. He settled back comfortably to enjoy the show.

‘Of course you are,’ said Matron, her hands tightly clasped at her waist, ‘but these general wards are hardly suitable for . . .’

‘For people like me?’ The pheasant feather waved as she laughed. ‘You’re too kind to think of any discomfort I may encounter, Matron. But I assure you I am quite safe in Mr Reilly’s delightful company.’

Matron threw Ron a glance of sheer venom. ‘Mr Reilly and the others on this ward are not permitted visitors outside the appropriate times, Lady Anstruther-Norton.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Sylvia chuckled. ‘How naughty of me to break the rules.’ She placed her hand on Matron’s arm. ‘But I’m sure you understand that it was imperative I see Mr Reilly as soon as I could. After all,’ she went on, ‘he did save my son’s life, and Lord James is frightfully grateful to you and your staff for looking after them both so well.’

Matron was clearly struggling to make up her mind what stance she should take in the face of this charming, titled lady who seemed to be getting the better of her. ‘Of course,’ she said with as much grace as she could muster. ‘But Mr Reilly needs to rest, and I understand you have yet to arrange accommodation for your stay in Cliffehaven. May I suggest we retire to my office so we can discuss the most appropriate accommodation over coffee?’

Sylvia turned to Ron and winked. ‘Are you tired, Mr Reilly?’

‘To be sure, I’ve never felt more awake,’ he replied and gave her a wink back – which elicited a furious glare from Matron. He decided to play the devil’s advocate. ‘If it’s accommodation you’ll be wanting, then my family has a boarding house and we’ve a spare room at the moment.’

‘I don’t think Lady Anstruther-Norton—’

‘I’m sure it will be just perfect,’ interrupted Sylvia. ‘Thank you so much, Matron, for taking the time to come and see me. But you must be terribly busy, and Mr Reilly and I have several more things to discuss before I have to go and see Christopher again. Perhaps you could arrange for Mr Reilly and me to have coffee here?’

Matron went quite white. ‘I’ll see what can be arranged,’ she stammered. ‘But it’s most irregular.’

‘How very kind,’ Sylvia murmured. ‘Thank you so much.’ She turned her back on the other woman and perched once more on Ron’s bed as Matron snapped an order at one of the passing nurses for two cups of coffee.

‘Tell me, Mr Reilly,’ said Sylvia. ‘What is the name of your family boarding house, and where can I find it?’

Ron looked into her eyes, saw the laughter there and tried not to crack up as he caught a glimpse of Matron hovering uncertainly nearby. ‘Beach View is away along Camden Road to the left as you leave the hospital,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘To be sure, ’tis not a palace, but it is a home. Me daughter-in-law’s away at the moment, but me granddaughter and son will look after you, so they will.’

Matron was within earshot as she brought the coffee cups to the bed. ‘I really don’t think such an establishment . . .’ she blustered.

Sylvia turned a beaming smile on her as she took the cups. ‘Ah, coffee. How simply lovely. You will thank the nurse for me, won’t you?’

Matron dithered, clearly anxious to get Sylvia out of her ward and away from Ron and all the other gawping men.

‘Please don’t let us hold you up, Matron,’ said Sylvia pleasantly. ‘I’m sure you have far more important things to do than chaperone me.’

Matron Billings went the colour of beetroot, turned on her heel and marched out of the ward. The swing doors slammed behind her in condemnation.

Sylvia giggled. ‘Good heavens,’ she breathed. ‘What a simply
ghastly
woman. Where on
earth
did they dig her up?’

Ron roared with laughter. ‘You’re a caution, so y’are, Lady Anstruther-Norton.’

‘I insist you call me Sylvia,’ she said sternly, although her eyes still sparkled with fun, ‘otherwise I shall refuse to speak to you at all.’

‘Let’s compromise. You call me Ron, and I’ll call you Lady Sylvia.’

‘It’s a deal.’

They regarded one another like conspirators as they drank the almost tasteless drink which bore little relation to proper coffee. Sylvia finally gave up on it with a shudder, but Ron was grateful for anything that had been wrung out of Matron and finished the last drop.

Sylvia took his empty cup and then leaned forward and patted his hand. ‘I’ve driven all the way from Wiltshire almost non-stop and am desperate for sleep,’ she confided. ‘Do you think your family would mind very much if I went there tonight and simply climbed into bed without going through the rigmarole of social chit-chat?’

Ron was rather regretting his hasty and ill-thought-out invitation. ‘The offer was genuinely made,’ he said, ‘but I won’t be at all upset if you’d rather stay at one of the big hotels.’

She shot him a beaming smile. ‘I realised you were tugging the tiger’s tail, Ron, but large hotels are rather impersonal, aren’t they? Beach View sounds absolutely perfect.’

Ron reached into the locker, found the stub of a pencil and tore a bit off the end of the newspaper. ‘This is our telephone number. Give them a ring and explain who you are and that I sent you. They’ll have the room ready for you by the time you’ve visited Christopher and found your way there.’

She took the slip of paper and tucked it into her handbag. Her smile was soft. ‘Bless you, Ron. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

He decided to push his luck. ‘To be sure, a drop of brandy and a cheese and pickle sandwich wouldn’t come amiss,’ he said. ‘The food’s like the coffee. But you’ve got to be careful. Matron searches us for contraband.’

She patted his hand and gathered her things. ‘Leave it with me,’ she said and smiled. ‘See you tomorrow, Ron – and don’t cause too much trouble until then, otherwise we’ll both be for the high jump.’

Ron watched her leave the ward, smiling at each man as she passed and wishing them luck. ‘Now that,’ he murmured appreciatively, ‘is a real lady.’

Sylvia Anstruther-Norton softly brushed the lick of fair hair from her youngest son’s forehead and blinked back the tears of weariness and anxiety. He was sleeping peacefully, and his wounds would soon heal, but the fear that had overwhelmed her on hearing he’d been shot down still remained, and she knew that all the time her three sons were involved in this terrible war, she would never sleep easily.

Closing the door to the private room, she slowly made her way down the endless hospital corridors to the front entrance. The night was cold, the wind coming off the sea in gusts as the clouds scudded over the moon, and she drew the mink coat tighter to her neck as she hurried through the darkness to the Rolls-Royce she’d parked rather haphazardly outside the main gate.

The car was splattered with mud after the long, exhausting journey, but the interior smelled reassuringly of soft leather and the heater soon blasted out welcoming warmth as she checked Anne’s instructions on how to reach Beach View Boarding House.

As the delightful Anne closed the bedroom door behind her and plodded back down the stairs, Sylvia took in her surroundings. Beach View was a little shabby, but nevertheless far more homely and welcoming than she could have wished for. Ron hadn’t warned her that his granddaughter was heavily pregnant, and she hoped very much that the girl hadn’t gone to too much trouble on her behalf.

The room was as neat as a pin, with fresh linen and towels, the pretty bedspread and downy quilt making the narrow single bed look enticing. Sturdy furniture gleamed with polish, the floor had been swept, and every drawer in the dresser had been lined with crisp white paper. She walked into the bay and peeked between the blackout curtains, but it was too dark, and all she could see was the huddled mass of nearby roofs.

She shivered in the chill and kept her mink coat on as she slotted several sixpences into the meter then lit the gas fire. With a wry smile, she took off her hat and began to unpack. It had been a long time since she’d stayed in a lodging house, and this one far outshone those stinking, flea-infested East End hovels of her youth. But perhaps it was a good thing to be reminded of those years of hardship and struggle – of the times when she’d not known where her next meal was coming from – for she’d had things far too easy of late and had taken for granted the privileged lifestyle and happy family life that her marriage to James had provided. Christopher’s close shave with death had shaken her to the core, woken her to the harsh realities of this war and the fact that no one, however well cocooned, was safe.

Once the room had warmed, Sylvia prepared for bed and finally slipped in between the freshly ironed sheets and soft blankets with a sigh of pleasure. As she lay in the darkness listening to the whispers and creaks of the old house, she thought of James and wondered if he too was lying wakeful in their London flat, or if he was working through the night in the Cabinet room of Downing Street. They had spoken briefly on the telephone during a short visit to Matron’s office, so he knew their boy was on the mend, but that wouldn’t make sleep any easier – not when their two other sons were in battleships somewhere out in the Atlantic.

Closing her eyes, she remembered that night twenty-five years ago when they’d met. It was 1915 and London had been smothered in thick, choking fog. She’d been seventeen, and hurrying out of the hotel where she worked as a chambermaid. James had been in uniform, dashing up the steps, already late for a meeting with friends when they had collided.

He’d caught her before she fell, but her handbag hit the pavement, spilling the contents everywhere. Apologising profusely, he’d helped her retrieve her belongings, and then insisted upon taking her out for supper at a nearby café. The hours flew as they ate and talked and strolled along the Embankment, and when dawn lightened the sky they had both known that despite their wildly different backgrounds, this was the start of something very special indeed.

Sylvia sighed as sleep softly claimed her. There had been ructions, of course, and his family had been horrified to learn they’d married at the town hall before he went back to his regiment in France. She had been shunned by them, spending the remainder of the war in his flat in London. But on his return, his love and gentle encouragement had sustained her through those early years of marriage, and little by little she’d learned to fit in and become accepted. Now it seemed she could play the part with ease, but never again must she forget her humble origins, or take anything for granted, for she had been blessed with far more than any one person deserved.

It was May’s last day at the aircraft factory and the other women gathered to wish her luck. Rita rode pillion as May stuffed a change of clothing in the pannier, fired up the BSA and hurtled out of the factory compound, heading for Barrow Lane. She clasped her hands round May’s waist as they took the sharp bends at speed and rattled over the cobbles. It was a precarious ride, and Rita preferred to be in charge of the bike rather than being a passenger, but as this was May’s final evening in Cliffehaven, she had readily agreed to the lift home.

May brought the bike to a skidding halt outside the garage doors and switched off the engine. Rita clambered down and took off her helmet and goggles. ‘Whew,’ she breathed. ‘That was a bit hair-raising.’

May grinned as she wheeled the motorbike into the garage. ‘It’s good to get the wind in your hair now and again,’ she said, ‘but I suspect flying a plane will be even windier.’

‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

May shook her head as she took her bag out of the pannier. ‘I’m nervous, that’s all, and just wanted to have fun on my last ride.’ She patted the BSA and slowly pulled the tarpaulin over it. ‘You will look after her for me, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, though I can’t guarantee the Luftwaffe won’t drop a bomb on it.’

‘Rather that than Mum selling it, which she’d do the minute I leave. Thanks, Rita.’ Her gaze dipped to the floor beneath the slit in the door that served as a letter box. ‘Hey, it looks as if the postman’s been.’

Rita picked up the envelope with a shaking hand. It was franked with the insignia of the RAF. ‘I’m almost afraid to open it,’ she breathed. ‘What if they’ve turned me down?’

May grew impatient as Rita turned it over and over in her hand. ‘Just open it, Rita. The suspense is killing me.’

Rita’s heart was pounding as she carefully slit the envelope and drew out the two sheets of closely typed paper. Her gaze flew across the words, her breath caught in her throat, and she could hardly believe what she was reading, for they were offering her far more than she could ever have wished.

‘I’m in,’ she breathed. ‘They want me. Oh, May, they really do want me, and they say that if a position arises in the engineering department for an apprentice mechanic, they will arrange for me to finish my course so I can get my final qualifications and work for them.’

May grabbed the letter and read it swiftly. ‘There, see, I told you they wouldn’t turn you down. You have so much to offer, Rita – and this proves it.’ May’s eyes were shining with laughter as she handed it back. ‘And they’ve even let you stay at home for Christmas before you start your training. Lucky old you – I’ll be eating my Christmas lunch in some draughty air-force canteen in the middle of nowhere.’