Sealed With a Loving Kiss (28 page)

Rosie shrugged. ‘I don't know and I don't really care,' she confessed. ‘I've had enough of looking out for him.'

Ron drew back so he could look down into her face. ‘Is there something you'll be wanting to tell me, Rosie?'

Rosie couldn't lie to him, but she'd have to be careful not to rouse Ron's temper – it would only make things worse if he and Tommy got into a fight. ‘He seems to have got himself into debt, yet again, but he's chosen the wrong people to owe money to. I've told him straight I'm not giving him a penny, and that he'll have to wriggle out of it the best he can.'

‘To be sure, he's capable of wriggling out of most things,' Ron said flatly, ‘but at least you had the sense not to give him any more money.' He regarded her for a moment. ‘But how did he get into debt in the first place? Who are these people?'

‘I honestly don't know who they are. He refused to tell me.'

‘Which means they're a bunch of crooks.' He removed his comforting arm and sat forward on the couch so he could look her in the eye. ‘He's up to his old tricks again, isn't he?'

Rosie's gaze flicked away and she gave a shrug.

Ron was silent for a long moment as he reached in his pocket for his roll of tobacco. As he opened it and began to fill his pipe, his hands stilled. ‘This is good tobacco, Rosie. Where did you manage to find it, because I haven't seen this brand in the shop for months?'

Rosie licked her lips and couldn't think clearly enough to answer him.

He reached for her hand. ‘Rosie darlin', you've got to stop protecting him. Especially if he's dealing on the black market. You have too much to lose if the police come calling. And they will, Rose. As sure as eggs is eggs.'

‘I know,' she sighed in defeat. ‘That's why I gave the tobacco away and put the drink down the sink.'

Ron gave a low whistle. ‘That was a dangerous thing to do, Rosie girl. How did he take that?'

Rosie finally managed to look him in the eye. ‘Not well. But that's an end to it, Ron,' she said firmly. ‘I don't want you getting all steamed up about it. Tommy's in enough trouble over the money he owes – he'll get what's coming to him without you becoming involved.'

‘Aye, I can see you're right about that,' he said solemnly. He concentrated on filling his pipe with the illicit tobacco. ‘But there's more to your worries than just Tommy, isn't there?'

‘I think Tommy's enough to be going on with, don't you?' she said lightly as she got up from the couch and placed the sleeping Daisy in her pram. She took her time to pull the covers over her, for she was trying desperately to think of a way to distract him from this dangerous line of questioning.

‘I hope this raid doesn't last too long,' she said as she headed for the primus stove to boil a kettle. ‘It's not good for a baby to be in such a cold place.'

Ron crossed the floor and gently stilled her hand. ‘Rosie,' he said softly, ‘stop that and look at me.'

She reluctantly turned to face him, knowing that her thoughts and fears were showing in her expression.

‘I got back with the dogs and overheard some of your conversation with Tommy this morning,' he said quietly. ‘You're worried about young Mary, aren't you?'

She nodded, and that acknowledgement eased the great weight she'd been carrying on her shoulders ever since morning. ‘So, you know about Cyril?'

‘I know it was an alias Tommy used many years ago. But how does young Mary fit into all this?'

She shrugged and gave a deep sigh. ‘That's the strangest part of it. I can't see how she could be, but Eileen overheard her asking about Cyril, and now Tommy's got it into his head that she'll cause trouble if she finds out the truth.'

Ron frowned. ‘Eileen? But why should Eileen Harris be dragged into it?'

Rosie shook her head and gave a wry smile. ‘Tommy can still wrap her round his little finger – more fool her.' She folded her arms tightly round her waist, her dislike for Eileen coming through in the flat tone of her voice. ‘I don't think she actually cares much what happens to him as long as it doesn't affect her comfortable little life – but she was willing enough to approach Mary to ask why she was looking for Cyril.'

Ron regarded her steadily. ‘And what did the girl say?'

‘Absolutely nothing, according to Tommy – which of course is like a red rag to a bull. Now he wants me to question her.'

Ron nodded. ‘Yes, I heard that part. Do you think it's wise, Rosie? After all, it might lead to all sorts of complications, not only for Tommy, but for you as well.'

She frowned as she looked back at him. ‘It might be awkward, certainly, and I shall have to be very careful not to upset her in any way. But I can't see that there could be anything the girl might say that could affect me. Tommy's past was always going to catch up with him sooner or later – and I've never played any part in his dirty dealings.'

She smiled then and kissed his cheek. ‘Don't worry about me, Ron. I'm tougher than I look.'

She turned away to make them both a cup of tea so she didn't see the anxiety etched into his face or the trembling in his hand as he tried to light his pipe.

As the enemy bombers thundered overhead and the dogfights between the fighter planes continued, Tommy Findlay crawled into the profound darkness of the alleyway and slumped onto the ground amid the stinking litter that had spewed out of the dustbins. The pain in his broken leg was all-encompassing, spreading like fire through his body and roaring in his head. His eyelids were so swollen he could barely see, and as he struggled to breathe through his broken nose, the agony in his battered chest made him whimper.

The beating had been thorough and dealt with brutal efficiency by the four thugs, and Tommy barely heard the battle going on above him, for only the torment of his agony existed. Yet, deeply buried beneath that unbearable pain lay the knowledge that if he remained here, he would die.

He tried to move, but he no longer had the strength to even lift his head. Defeated, he drew up his knees, curling into the throbbing, gnawing pain, and almost welcomed the release from his torture that only death could bring.

It was Jenny's night off, but Mary and Ivy had spent a good deal of their night shift sitting in the vast underground shelter with the other factory girls. It had all been rather jolly as they'd swapped knitting patterns and gossip, tried each other's nail varnishes and lipsticks, and made plans for the following weekend as the bombers and fighters roared overhead.

And then the world erupted in an ear-shattering blast of sharp masonry and choking dust that threw them into a vicious maelstrom, then blessed oblivion.

Mary eventually opened her eyes and for a moment wondered where she was, and what had happened. There seemed to be a dead quality to the sounds she could hear, and the darkness, although inky black, was filled with suffocating, acrid dust.

As her senses slowly returned, she realised she was lying amidst broken shards of brick and concrete, and, through the ringing in her ears, she could hear screams and groans echoing eerily through a numb silence. The shelter had been hit, people were injured, she had to try and help. However, as she attempted to move she found that the lower half of her body seemed to be weighted down.

Fighting to breathe and tamp down on the surge of terror which threatened to overwhelm her, she gingerly wriggled her toes and fingers and flexed her limbs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but she felt bruised and battered from head to foot and there was something sticky on her forehead. She ran her finger carefully over the large lump and winced as she found the deep cut just beyond her hair line. It was all right, just a nasty cut that would probably stop bleeding before long. Now she had to find some way of removing whatever was pinning her down without bringing the whole lot on top of her.

She reached behind her, and, after a quick exploration, realised she was covered in rubble. There didn't seem to be any rafters or supporting beams across her, so she slowly and carefully began to pick away at the rubble until she could wriggle free. She sat up, coughing and spluttering from the cloying dust that seemed to have filled her mouth and nose, and blinking rapidly in an attempt to get the stinging grit out of her eyes.

‘Ivy,' she called into the confusing darkness. ‘Ivy, where are you?'

‘I'm over here,' she called back through a hacking cough. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes,' she replied as she hawked the filthy muck from her lungs and fought to breathe without inhaling yet more dust. ‘Are you?'

‘Everything seems to be working, but I got a bleeding great lump outta me flaming knee, I'm bruised from head to blooming toe, and me new dungarees 'ave 'ad it.'

Mary scrambled carefully over the debris towards her voice, and as they found one another they tearfully clung together, thankful that they were alive. Others were now moving about too, and the girls could hear some calling for help with the more seriously injured. It was still pitch black and the enemy bombers droned above them as they finally headed for the Channel.

Mary gripped her friend's hand as another part of the shelter wall collapsed and they were once more covered in a cloud of acrid dust. ‘It's all right, Ivy, we'll be out of here soon,' she muttered with rather more certainty than she felt.

‘I 'ope so,' Ivy replied dolefully. ‘I've left me spam sandwiches on me work bench, and some other bugger will get them if I ain't quick off the mark.'

Mary chuckled and gave her a hug. Ivy was always thinking about her stomach, but at least it meant she was feeling her usual cheeky self.

The all-clear sounded just before eleven and, with a deep sigh of relief, Peggy turned off the heater and the lamp before gently waking Cordelia. They were both stiff from sitting so long in the cramped shelter, and it took a while to get Cordelia mobile.

They emerged from the Anderson shelter to an empty sky. The air was heavy with the stench of cordite and smoke, but thankfully all the bomb-blasts had been some distance away, so there was hope that Cliffehaven had escaped any serious damage.

Peggy took Cordelia's arm and helped her along the icy path and up the steps to the kitchen, where the fire in the range had finally decided to come to life. Settling her in the chair with her blankets, Peggy hurried to boil the kettle and check on the stew. It had gone a bit dry, but everyone would be glad of it by the time they got home.

Once she'd retrieved the rest of the bedding and the box of supplies from the shelter, she poured fresh hot water into the stone bottle and quickly placed it in Cordelia's bed so that it would warm the sheets. Then, as the old lady dozed by the fire, she laid the table for their very late tea and settled down rather anxiously with a cuppa to wait for the others.

Sarah came in first, having been driven home by Captain Hammond, who quickly popped in to say hello before he rushed back to the estate.

‘It's chaos up there,' she said as she took off her thick coat. ‘An unexploded bomb was found very close to the Timber Corps accommodation and everyone had to sit about in the manor house while the Americans' bomb disposal team went in to defuse it.' She shot Peggy a weary smile. ‘Needless to say, the GIs used this as an excuse to throw a party.'

Fran turned up minutes later with Jane, who immediately raced upstairs to the bathroom. Fran held her hands out to the fire. ‘Poor Jane hates those buckets behind the hessian screens and refuses to use them, hence the dash upstairs,' she explained.

Peggy didn't blame Jane for holding on, for those buckets stank and there was a distinct lack of privacy despite the screens. ‘Where's Robert?' she asked. ‘Didn't he bring you back?'

‘He has to be back in his office, so he dropped us off and apologises for not coming in.' She shook back her hair and gave a deep sigh. ‘We've spent most of what should have been a lovely evening in a cold, damp, smelly shelter trying to keep warm – but at least we're all still in one piece, so I suppose I shouldn't be complaining.'

Peggy looked anxiously at the clock. Ron should be home by now with Daisy – and where was Rita?

Then the back door slammed and Harvey came racing up the stairs to be followed by Rita, who was looking very dishevelled. ‘Goodness me, Rita,' breathed Peggy. ‘What's happened to you?'

‘A bomb went off up on the factory estate, and we had to dig a few people out.' She must have seen Peggy's look of horror, for she added quickly, ‘No one was too badly hurt and Mary's fine. Most of the damage was minor and as soon as the all-clear sounded it was back to work. She said she'd call in tomorrow afternoon to see you and put your mind to rest.'

Peggy hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out on a thankful sigh. ‘I'm due to have a cup of tea with Rosie tomorrow afternoon, so I'll leave a message with Doris so Mary can meet me at the Anchor.' She noted the dirt on Rita's little face and the weary set of her shoulders. ‘Why don't you have a quick wash and get out of those filthy clothes before tea? You'll feel more ready to eat if you're clean.'

Rita nodded and plodded upstairs just as Ron stomped up the cellar steps with a drowsy Daisy in his arms. ‘She's been as good as gold,' he said as he handed her to Peggy. ‘Rosie gave her something to eat and a bit of her bottle to help her settle – but I think she needs changing again.'

‘Sarah, could you help Cordelia to the table and then finish dishing out the stew while I see to Daisy? There's bread in the larder if anyone wants it.'

Peggy hurried to her bedroom, where she changed Daisy's nappy and quickly relieved her of the thick layer of cardigans which had kept her warm on her journey home. Once she'd given her a cuddle and rocked her back to sleep, she put her in the cot and wrapped her snugly in her blankets.