Keep Smiling Through (32 page)

The loud rap of the door-knocker saved Anne from a prolonged inquisition and she hurried into the hall to open the door.

The daunting figure of her Aunt Doris stood on the top step, resplendent in her best mink coat, pearls and natty hat. Her furious expression did not bode well.

‘You should have told me,’ she said without preamble as she brushed past Anne and stepped into the hall. ‘I would have come sooner if I’d known. It was most lax of you not to give me some warning.’

Anne heard her father’s hasty retreat back into the garden as she closed the door. Her mother’s sister was difficult at the best of times, and Jim couldn’t stand her when she was on her high horse. By the look of her, she was saddled up and ready to go into battle.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aunt Doris,’ she said, despite the fact she understood all too well. ‘But it’s nice to see you,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘You look in robust health.’

Doris waved away her compliment with a gloved hand. She wasn’t about to waste time on social niceties. ‘I see the Rolls-Royce is parked outside,’ she said briskly. ‘Is Lady Anstruther-Norton receiving visitors?’

‘Oh,’ said Anne, trying to keep a straight face. ‘And here’s me thinking you’d come to wish us a happy Christmas.’

Doris bristled. ‘Well?’ she asked impatiently.

‘She’s in the kitchen doing the washing-up,’ said Anne, the giggles bubbling very close to the surface now.

Doris’s eyes widened and she paled beneath the careful make-up. ‘You don’t ask a
Lady
to do the washing-up,’ she hissed. ‘Even
I
have a girl to do that.’ She quickly checked her appearance in the hall mirror, straightened her hat a fraction over her stiffly set brown hair, and walked purposefully into the kitchen.

Anne followed her and quietly sat by the fire to watch the fun.

Doris swept past a startled Mrs Finch as if she was invisible and held out her gloved hand. ‘Lady Anstruther-Norton,’ she said in her most refined and strangulated accent. ‘May profound apologies for not presenting mayself sooner.’

Sylvia paused a fraction of a second before she turned from the sink, her hands swathed in bright yellow rubber gloves that dripped soapsuds. ‘How do you do?’ she said coolly.

‘This is my Aunt Doris,’ Anne hurriedly explained as Doris eyed the rubber gloves, thought better of shaking Sylvia’s hand and ruining her own, and awkwardly clutched her handbag.

‘We haven’t been introduced, Lady Anstruther-Norton,’ Doris simpered, ‘but Aye do believe we have a mutual acquaintance.’ She paused for effect. ‘My dear friend Lady Charlmondley sends her regards.’

‘Good grief,’ said Sylvia. ‘Is that old battleaxe still going?’

Doris looked distinctly put out. She cleared her throat and forgot momentarily to keep up the strangled accent. ‘Lady Charlmondley is very much alive,’ she said. ‘In fact she and I are on the board of many of our local charities.’

‘Aurelia always did enjoy bossing everyone about,’ muttered Sylvia as she pulled off the gloves and placed them on the wooden drainer. She looked at Doris and smiled, ‘but a doughty lady nevertheless. I’m sure you’re both a great asset to Cliffehaven’s charitable institutions, Mrs . . .’

‘Mrs Williams, but please, call me Doris,’ she replied hastily, deeming it safe now to risk shaking hands. ‘May husband Edward and Aye are delighted to welcome you to Cliffehaven, Lady Anstruther-Norton.’

‘Thank you,’ Sylvia said with a gracious dip of her head, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth.

The introductions over, Doris got into her stride. ‘May husband Edward is the area manager for the Home and Colonial Company, you know, and we are
terribly
concerned about your welfare – and that of your son, of course. How is that poor, dear
brave
young man?’

‘Christopher is getting stronger by the day,’ Sylvia replied, ‘but I don’t really see why you should be concerned over
my
welfare.’

‘Well,’ said Doris with a disapproving glance sweeping past Anne and Mrs Finch to the clutter on every flat surface. ‘It’s hardly what you’re used to, is it Lady Anstruther-Norton?’

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s homely and warm and welcoming, and the people who live here have been kindness itself. Are you implying that my home in Wiltshire is not the same?’

Doris reddened. ‘No, of course not,’ she blustered. ‘I just meant that you must be finding it all a bit . . . a bit . . .’ She leaned forward like a conspirator. ‘Working class,’ she hissed disdainfully. ‘James and Ronan can be so
terribly
uncouth at times, and their humour is questionable, to say the least.’

‘Really?’ Sylvia eyed her coldly. ‘I find both of them delightful company. And if it hadn’t been for dearest Ron, I would have lost my son. As far as my husband and I are concerned, he’s a hero.’

Clearly disconcerted that every approach had been skilfully turned against her, Doris fidgeted with her coat collar and patted the triple strings of pearls at her throat. But she was not a woman to be thwarted. She was here on a mission and nothing would stop her. ‘May husband and Aye would be honoured if you’d stay with us in Havelock Gardens,’ she said determinedly. ‘We have a naice detached house in the
better
part of Cliffehaven.’

‘You’re very kind,’ Sylvia said smoothly, ‘but I’m quite content here.’

Doris frowned. ‘Are you sure, Lady Anstruther-Norton? Only Aye’ve had may gel prepare a room for you – with your own bathroom, of course. May son is away on important,
secret
business with the MOD, so there is plenty of room.’ She hurried on before Sylvia could interject. ‘You’ll be very comfortable, Aye assure you, and of course Lady Charlmondley is a frequent visitor, and Aye just know—’

Sylvia cut in. ‘I’m grateful to your girl for going to so much trouble, but I will not be leaving Beach View.’ She smiled and held out her hand, forcing Doris to shake it. ‘It was kind of you to come,’ she said pleasantly as she slowly drew Doris towards the door. ‘But as you can see, we are rather busy this morning, and Anne needs to rest. Please pass on my regards to Aurelia when you see her.’

Anne watched in admiration as a flustered Doris was expertly steered into the hall.

‘Perhaps you would do me the honour of attending may little tea party next week?’ Doris asked in a final desperate bid. ‘It’s a trifling thing really, arranged more for charity than may own pleasure, but one has to do what one can in such troubling times, doesn’t one?’

‘One certainly does,’ murmured Sylvia as she opened the front door.

‘Ay’m sure your august presence would lend cachet to the occasion and help raise the much-needed funds for all those poor souls who’ve been made homeless,’ Doris gabbled. ‘When one is as fortunate as you and Aye, it is our duty to do what we can, don’t you think?’

Anne watched in amusement from the kitchen doorway as Sylvia moved in such a way that Doris had no choice but to step outside.

‘It is indeed,’ said Sylvia. ‘But I’m here to care for my son, not to join in the social whirl of Cliffehaven.’

Doris dithered on the top step, the light of rising panic gleaming in her eyes. ‘Lady Aurelia was especially looking forward to seeing you and will be most disappointed,’ she muttered, nervously tugging at the strap of her handbag.

Sylvia dug in her skirt pocket and pulled out a large pink crumpled pound note. ‘Please accept this small token towards your charity. I’m sure the recipients are truly grateful for all your sterling work.’

Doris discovered that she was now on the second step down, the pound note crushed in her gloved hand. ‘Thank you, Lady Anstruther-Norton,’ she managed. ‘It is most kind . . .’

‘Not at all,’ said Sylvia with some asperity. ‘Now, I really do have to go and help in the kitchen. Goodbye, Doris.’

‘Goodbye, Lady Ans . . .’

Sylvia closed the door quietly but firmly, and leaned against it with a deep sigh of relief.

‘Well done,’ breathed Anne as she came into the hall. ‘Aunt Doris was worse than usual today. It must be your august presence and fetching rubber gloves that brought it on,’ she added with a chuckle.

Sylvia grinned. ‘I don’t wish to be rude,’ she said, ‘but please tell me your mother is nothing like her sister.’

Anne laughed. ‘Mum’s the exact opposite and she’d have applauded that performance. Aunt Doris is always turning her nose up at our home and making snide comments about Dad and Grandpa. She winds Mum up like a cuckoo clock.’

‘I know how Peggy feels,’ Sylvia admitted. ‘In fact, Anne, I think my cuckoo expired about ten minutes ago due to an overdose of pomposity and strangled vowels.’

They burst out laughing, and linked arms as they made their happy way back to the peaceful sanctuary of the untidy kitchen.

Three days had passed since that awful confrontation and Rita knew that neither of them would ever forget it. The harsh words had remained between them like an unseen third presence, the thorny topics of leaving Cliffehaven and Rita’s broken dreams firmly avoided.

But as they stepped out of the church after the beautiful midnight mass, and heard the joyous ringing of the bells, Rita felt Louise reach for her hand, and knew that the sense of peace that had come with the lovely service had touched her heart too.

‘Happy Christmas, Mamma,’ she said softly.

‘Happy Christmas, Rita,’ she replied, tucking her hand into Rita’s arm as they stood in the churchyard which glistened with frost and listened to the bells.

They made a joyful sound compared to the awful, spine-chilling wail of the sirens and the drone of enemy planes, and Rita’s pulse quickened with hope that this war would soon be over and the bells could ring every night.

‘Come, Rita, let’s get going before we freeze to death.’

They waved goodbye to their friends and set off from the church for the long walk home. Rita had decided it was far too dangerous to ride the bike down the hill in such weather, and anyway, there was only just enough petrol in the Norton to get them to Peggy’s in the morning. As Rita would be on fire-watch duty tomorrow night, she would refuel at the fire station on the way.

They were bundled up in their thickest coats, scarves wrapped round their heads and necks to stave off the bitter cold, gloved hands dug deep into their pockets. The wind coming off the sea nipped at their noses and made their eyes water, and in its breath was a promise of snow.

‘Perhaps we’ll have a white Christmas,’ said Rita, as they carefully walked along the slippery pavement towards the small park on the edge of Havelock Gardens.

‘I’ve lived here all my life and never seen snow fall on Christmas Day,’ Louise replied.

‘We’re probably too far south,’ muttered Rita as she concentrated on where she placed her feet. She paused and looked round. ‘But it’s beautiful, isn’t it? Look how the frost is all lacy in the trees, and the way the spiders’ webs are glittering with it.’

Louise tugged at her arm. ‘It’s too cold to be admiring the view,’ she said, huddling into her coat collar, ‘and we’ve got that hill to climb yet.’

It was only a short walk through Havelock Park to the far western end of the promenade, but the pavement was treacherous and they kept hold of one another until they reached the gravel path that ran through the heart of the small park. The elegant iron benches and ornate railings and gates had been taken to be melted down and made into fighter planes and tanks, and the carefully ordered flower beds and arbours had been demolished to provide vegetable plots and air-raid trenches.

They silently passed the pond and the deserted swings and slides and headed towards the high hedges and grand houses that lined the broad streets of Havelock Gardens. They could still hear the bells, but now they were accompanied by the mournful moan of the foghorn and, as they began the long climb to the asylum, they could see the fog coming in from the sea in swirling clouds.

Disregarding all the blackout rules, Rita switched on the powerful torch she’d borrowed from the fire station. They were now shrouded in fog and couldn’t see a thing. ‘Not much chance of Gerry being out on a night like this,’ she reassured Louise as they slowly went arm in arm up the winding track and negotiated the frozen ruts and icy puddles.

Neither of them regarded the asylum as home, but on this bitter night its promise of sanctuary and warmth drew them ever onwards, safe in the knowledge that no matter how tough things became, they would always have each other.

It was Christmas Day, but the routine of life on a busy farm went on as usual and, once again, Peggy was woken by the low of cows, the rattling of buckets, the crow of roosters, and the fussy clucking of hens. The days began before first light here, for the cows had to be brought in for milking and there always seemed to be something to do.

She lay in the comfortable bed, enjoying these few moments of tranquillity before she went down to help Violet in the vast flagstoned kitchen. It felt odd without Jim lying next to her, for they’d never spent a night apart since their wedding, but it was rather nice to be able to stretch luxuriously across it, wrapped in all the blankets and burrowed in a stack of pillows.

Her room was beneath the heavily beamed eaves of the isolated farmhouse. Warmed by the chimney breast that ran up one side of it, it was a pretty haven with sprigged curtains and bedspread, dark sturdy furniture, faded Turkish rugs, and a tiny latched window that looked out over the farmyard to the fields and the distant lake.

She appreciated the beauty of the rolling Somerset landscape but still couldn’t get used to the emptiness of it all. A town girl at heart, she preferred to have shops nearby and a firm pavement beneath her feet. It was all very well for the boys, they didn’t mind getting muddy and wet, and had no objection to the wide open spaces where they could roam at will from dawn to dusk.

She smiled as she thought of Sally Hicks’ little crippled brother, Ernie. Violet was his aunt, and she had given all three boys sanctuary for the duration. Ernie had blossomed, his once wan face glowing with health, his shambling gait in the restricting caliper much improved as he followed her boys about. It did Peggy’s heart good to see how much he’d come on – for she remembered all too well how desperately needy both he and his sister had been when they’d arrived at Cliffehaven as evacuees at the start of the war. Now Sally was married to the fire chief, John Hicks, and Ernie was thriving in this good country air.