Sealed With a Loving Kiss (2 page)

Peggy's musing was disturbed by the sound of her father-in-law's snoring, which was accompanied by the deep snuffles and snorts of his large, shaggy lurcher, Harvey. Ron shared his basement bedroom with Harvey and two ferrets, and Peggy had long since given up trying to keep it clean and tidy. The ferrets, Flora and Dora, were housed in a large wooden cage, but Harvey was no doubt stretched out beside Ron, shedding dog hairs, slobber and muck all over the bedding.

The pair of them frequently tried her patience, for they were scallywags and always up to some mischief or another. But their heroic rescue of that mother and her baby from the bombed-out boarding house the previous weekend made up for it all, and like everyone else at Beach View – and indeed in Cliffehaven – Peggy was very proud of them.

She stirred a few grains of precious sugar into her tea as she sat at the kitchen table and then reached for the scrapbook she'd been putting together for when Jim came home. There was so little she could write in the cramped space of the airgraphs, and she'd decided to start the scrapbook so that Jim could have some idea of what had been happening during his absence. Turning the pages, she came to the cuttings she'd taken from the newspapers.

The headline in the local
Recorder
was large and glaring: ‘
HERO AND HIS DOG RESCUE WOMAN AND BABY FROM INFERNO
', and the article went on to describe the destruction of the Grand Hotel and the two boarding houses during an enemy raid where at least ten people had lost their lives. The reporter urged the public to support the newspaper's call for Ron and Harvey to be awarded some kind of recognition for their bravery – and in the following issues there had been a deluge of letters in favour of this idea.

The story had even reached the national press, and the clamour to reward Ron and his dog had grown. Ron had found the whole thing extremely embarrassing, and he'd hidden away from all the fuss on the allotment with his friend Stan, or out in his garden shed, hoping it would all soon die down and he could get on with his usually quiet life.

But it was still going on, and Ron was getting grumpier by the day, constantly muttering that it was a lot of fuss about nothing, and that he'd only done what any other man would do in the circumstances. For all his blarney and swagger, Ron was actually a very modest man, and as Peggy regarded the terrible picture of him and Harvey she couldn't help but smile, for as awful as it was, it had actually caught the very essence of both of them.

Ron was dressed in his disreputable corduroy trousers which were held up with garden twine, a sweater that had more holes in it than a sieve, filthy wellingtons and his long poacher's coat. He was glaring at the camera from beneath the bill of his stained cap, and no doubt about to tear the reporter off a strip for daring to take his picture.

Harvey's brindled, shaggy coat looked as if he'd been rolling in something, despite the fact she'd actually hosed him down earlier that day, and his paws were bandaged to protect the cuts that he'd sustained during the rescue. But his ears were pricked, there was undoubted intelligence in his eyes and he seemed to be grinning at the camera. Harvey was definitely not shy, and, unlike his master, thoroughly enjoyed it when people made a fuss of him.

Peggy felt a pang of frustration that was heavily laced with affection. The pair of them looked disgraceful, and hardly a good advertisement for her housekeeping skills – but then they had never conformed to any rules, and were now far too set in their rumbustious ways to change.

She flicked through the next few pages which held newspaper photographs of Cliffehaven's Spitfire, and an article about Rita's sterling efforts at fund-raising for it, as well as a piece about the new WVS mobile refreshment truck that had been donated so generously by the Queen. She set the scrapbook aside and drank her tea. It was rather nice to have the house to herself for a change and to sit still before the usual chaos of the day began. But it was now two in the morning, and if she didn't get any sleep, she'd be fit for nothing by tonight when she would have to go with Mary to the Anchor.

The girl was playing the piano there tonight, and although she didn't have an inkling that Tommy Findlay was the Cyril Fielding she'd been searching for, and therefore her father, she'd had a most unfortunate confrontation with him when he'd tried to pick her up one night. Not surprisingly, she was very wary of him – and as he was Rosie Braithwaite's younger brother, and now living at the Anchor during his term of bail, it was all horribly awkward.

Peggy knew she wouldn't sleep yet, so she lit a cigarette and continued to sip her tea as her thoughts raced. Cliffehaven before the war had been quite a small town, the community close-knit, with a fair share of people who couldn't mind their own business. It hadn't changed that much, despite the fact the town was now inundated with newcomers who worked at the many factories that had sprung up since the war had begun – which was why it had been so important to keep Mary's secret hidden. There were still some who had very long memories, and even if they didn't know the full story their imaginations had filled in the gaps, and it was surprising how close to the truth a few of them had come.

Rosie Braithwaite had taken over the Anchor almost twenty years ago, and although she'd had to struggle against prejudice and suspicion – and various men who'd tried their luck – she'd made a great success of it. Ron had fallen for her, and after several years of trying, had finally managed to persuade her that although he might be a scruffy old Irishman, he was the right man for her.

Rosie's younger brother was quite a different kettle of fish, for Tommy was like a bad penny that kept turning up to cause trouble. He'd been involved in various fraudulent scams over the years, had spent at least three terms in prison, and regarded women as a soft target for his questionable charms. He was an all-round rotter.

Tommy had just been released from his latest spell in prison, and because he suffered from mild asthma had managed to evade being sent straight into the army as other prisoners were. He was out on probation, the terms of which meant he had to have a permanent address and must report for warden and fire-watch duties each day. His ex-wife and two children would have nothing to do with him, so he'd played on Rosie's rather misguided sense of family loyalty and was now ensconced at the Anchor for at least six months.

Peggy knew that Ron had already been to the Anchor to warn Tommy to keep his hands to himself and not bother any of the girls who came into the pub – and had even told Rosie about how her brother had tried to pick Mary up the night he'd arrived back in Cliffehaven from prison. According to Ron, Rosie had been furious, and had told her brother straight that if he didn't behave, he'd be out on his ear. Knowing Tommy's preference for a comfortable, easy life, Peggy suspected he would toe the line. Even so, Mary needed her support tonight, and she mustn't let her down.

Stubbing out her cigarette, she turned off the light and went back to her bedroom. Mary had stayed overnight because she was billeted with Peggy's sister, Doris, who lived on the far side of town and it wouldn't have been wise to let her walk home alone in the dark. Cliffehaven was usually a quiet little town, but since the arrival of the allied troops – and Tommy Findlay – it could be a little daunting late at night for anyone as nervous and young as Mary.

She glanced at the bedside clock and realised everyone would be getting up in less than four hours to have breakfast and go to work. She had done enough thinking and her poor head was aching with it, so she climbed back into the empty, tousled bed and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

It still felt strange not to have Jim's long, strong body curled around her, and she missed him most in these lonely hours. Yet her weariness finally overcame any such sadness and within seconds she was fast asleep.

Mary woke and turned over in the narrow single bed, wondering for a moment where she was. Then she remembered she was at Beach View, and that she had a longer walk to the Kodak factory from here than she had from her billet in Havelock Road. She rolled onto her back and stretched, listening to the sounds of the waking house.

The light patter of footsteps running down the stairs was probably Jane, who began work at the dairy very early so she could groom and feed the Shires before starting her milk round. Mary liked Jane, for she was a sweet, rather innocent girl, who worked hard not only at the dairy, but as a part-time book-keeper at the uniform factory. She was very close to her older sister, Sarah, who'd joined the Women's Timber Corps and spent her days in the Corps office on the Cliffe estate – but that was hardly surprising, as they were far from their home in Malaya, their mother was living in Australia with their baby brother, and there was still no news of their father or Sarah's fiancé, Philip, after the devastating fall of Singapore to the Japanese.

Mary didn't envy their situation at all and couldn't imagine how they managed to cope with the dreadful uncertainties. But she did envy their living here at Beach View, and in a way she regretted turning down Peggy's offer of a permanent room. Peggy reminded her of Barbara Boniface, who'd taken her in after the rectory and church had taken a direct hit during a bombing raid and both her parents had been killed. Both women were motherly and warm and always ready to listen and give sensible advice, and Mary counted herself very blessed to have had such sterling support during her darkest hours.

The girls were terrific company too, and dear little Cordelia Finch was like the grandmother she'd never had. And yet her billet with Peggy's sister Doris was very comfortable and she'd become friends with Ivy, the Cockney girl with whom she shared a room – and although she and Ivy had come from very different backgrounds, they'd got on immediately. Probably because Doris was so bossy and snobbish that they had a common battle to fight and shared the same sense of humour. There had been a lot of giggling over the past week, and her spirits had been lightened considerably.

Mary yawned and slowly sat up. She ran her fingers through her long dark hair and thought how strange it was that she'd become so settled in Cliffehaven after such a short time. She'd left her village in Sussex only a week ago, but so much had happened in those few days that it felt as if she'd been here for much longer.

She drew back the blackout curtains and looked down through the taping on the window into the garden at the rear of Beach View. Long and narrow, it had been turned into a vegetable patch, and even the turf on top of the gloomy Anderson shelter was sprouting with winter seedlings. A washing line hung forlornly across the path that led to the gate and flint wall, and from up here she could see straight across the twitten into the back gardens and windows of the terraced houses opposite. It was a far cry from the rambling grounds and woods that had surrounded the rather isolated rectory.

The memory of what had happened on the night of her eighteenth birthday chilled her and she pulled on her dressing gown. Her parents' deaths had left her not only bereft of home and family, but of everything she had ever believed about herself. The discovery of her father's diaries and the document hidden within them had revealed that she wasn't Gideon and Emmaline's daughter at all, but the illegitimate and unwanted product of a seedy affair between the married Cyril Fielding and some girl he'd met during his rounds as a travelling salesman.

The gentle Reverend Gideon Jones had taken her in and loved and cared for her, but Emmaline's puzzling coldness towards her had finally been explained, and Mary could understand now how difficult it must have been for a proud, self-centred woman to take on the responsibility of such a child. Yet, despite the fact there had been little affection between them, there was still a part of Mary which mourned the fact they could never talk again or make peace with one another – and it was this sense of things being unfinished between them that was the hardest to bear.

It had been that document and those diary entries that had brought Mary to Cliffehaven in search of answers, and although she'd suspected there could only be disappointment ahead, she hadn't been prepared for how swiftly her search for Cyril Fielding was concluded – or how devastating the truth had been.

Dear Peggy, she'd done her best to soften the blow, but there was no escaping the fact that her real father, Cyril, was a cheap crook, a liar and a thief who'd spent time in prison and didn't think twice about living off the different women who'd fallen for his dubious charms. As for her mother, there was no news at all, and as she'd abandoned Mary within days of her birth and effectively disappeared, Mary could only conclude that she must have been very young and not willing to tie herself down to motherhood – or Cyril.

Mary shivered and drew the belt of her dressing gown more tightly round her narrow waist. She'd had a lucky escape, for although Emmaline had found it impossible to be a loving mother, she and Gideon had given her a home, an education and a firm basis for an honest, fulfilling life. How different it might have been for her if Cyril had not done that one decent thing in his disreputable career.

Her hand strayed to the long gold chain that hung from her neck, and she carefully drew the gold locket out and nestled it in the palm of her hand. Barbara's son, Jack Boniface, had given it to her on her birthday just before he'd left on the troop train, and she would treasure it always. His letters of love and support had bolstered her spirits during those dark days of anguished loss, and his parents, Barbara and Joseph, had gladly taken her in and given her the affection and warmth she'd needed so badly. They were her family now, and when Jack returned from the war, they would marry and move into one of the farm cottages so that Jack could begin to take over from his father.

She sighed and tucked the locket away. There seemed to be no end to this terrible war, and it could be months, if not years, before they saw their dreams realised. All she could do now was continue with her job of sorting through the airgraphs at the Kodak factory, save as much money as she could, and make the best of things until it was time to take up her place at the teaching college in Lewes.