Some Lucky Day (12 page)

Peggy understood how bewildering this modern way of life must be for Cordelia, but there was little point in trying to make her see things differently, so she turned the conversation back to the whereabouts of her lodgers. ‘So, where are the others? Are they expected home for lunch?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Suzy is spending the day with Anthony. Sarah and Jane have packed sandwiches and are going for a walk in the hills, and Ron has taken Harvey to the Anchor now he’s calmed down and is back to his old self. I think Ron was planning to take Rosie for afternoon tea in the café at the end of the promenade before the pub opens again at six.’

‘And Fran? Where’s she got to?’

Cordelia frowned with disapproval. ‘An enormous car pulled up five minutes after you’d gone for your walk, and an American army officer with a swagger and far too many white teeth whisked her away. She shot out of the door so fast I didn’t have time to ask who he was and where she was going.’

Cordelia pursed her lips. ‘I got the distinct impression she didn’t want me to know anything about him – which is highly suspicious, if you ask me.’

Peggy silently agreed. She would have a quiet word with Fran tonight just to make sure she wasn’t doing anything silly, for the American glamour boys could easily turn a girl’s head, especially if she’d been as strictly raised as Fran.

Daisy had been fed and stripped of her clothes so she could splash about with her plastic ducks in the old tin bath that had been consigned to the shed once the bathroom had been installed. Peggy had decided that it was much too nice a day to spend doing housework, and so, after a sandwich lunch, she fetched her basket of mending and sat beneath the umbrella with Cordelia.

She was just sewing yet another button on one of Ron’s much faded shirts when she heard the click of the back garden gate. ‘Martin,’ she called in delight. ‘What a lovely surprise, we were only talking about you earlier.’

He was tall, broad shouldered and very dashing in the RAF uniform, and his luxuriant moustache tickled her as he planted a resounding kiss on her cheek. ‘Nothing too bad, I hope,’ he teased. ‘A chap has got his reputation to worry about, you know.’

‘No, nothing bad,’ she said around the sudden lump in her throat.

‘And how is my very best girl today?’ he boomed at Cordelia.

Cordelia blushed scarlet and twittered like an overexcited little bird as he gallantly kissed the back of her hand. ‘All the better for seeing you, you cheeky boy,’ she replied coquettishly.

‘That’s splendid,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘And I must say, you look very chipper on this lovely day.’

He took off his hat, placed it carefully on the stool and turned back to Daisy, who was laughing up at him from her makeshift pool. ‘Hello, sweet pea,’ he said softly. ‘My goodness, haven’t you grown?’

He put down his sturdy-looking document case and lifted the delighted baby into his arms, taking absolutely no notice of the water that was now dripping down his pristine uniform and dulling the brass buttons. ‘You remind me so much of Rose,’ he murmured as he let her tug his moustache and pat his face with her tiny wet hands.

There were tears in Peggy’s eyes as she watched this little scene, for she could see the longing for his own daughter in his face, and hear the wistfulness in his voice. ‘You’ll ruin your uniform,’ she said gruffly.

‘It doesn’t matter a jot,’ he replied as he tickled Daisy’s tummy and made her giggle. ‘Uniforms can be cleaned, but a cuddle with a baby is a rare pleasure that cannot be missed for anything.’

He kissed the chubby little face and carefully dipped her toes in and out of the water, which made her kick and gurgle in delight. Then he finally sat her down in the tub and handed her one of the rubber toys. ‘We’ll play again later when we’ve both dried off,’ he promised.

Peggy laughed as she got out of the deckchair. ‘I’ll get you another towel. Daisy’s is a bit small.’

‘No, wait, Peggy.’ He picked up the document case. ‘I have something here that is perfect for such a lovely day.’ Unfastening the locks, he pulled out a large bottle of gin and three more of Indian tonic water. ‘I thought we could enjoy these in the sun while we catch up on all the news,’ he said.

He placed the bottles on the ground and dug back into the case. ‘I also managed to get a couple of these,’ he added with a broad grin.

‘Good heavens,’ breathed Cordelia.

Peggy reached for one of the lemons and breathed in the long-forgotten scent. ‘But where on earth did you manage to find them?’

‘Ah, well, I probably shouldn’t tell you that,’ he said as he twirled one end of his dampened moustache. ‘Let’s just say they fell off the back of an American transporter plane.’

Peggy and Cordelia burst out laughing. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Ron,’ Peggy spluttered.

He winked and chuckled. ‘Well, I’ll take that as a compliment, Peggy. Ron is a fine man, so he is, and his skills as the provider of the little luxuries in life are quite legendary. So they are.’

Peggy giggled at Martin’s gentle mimicry. ‘You’ll have to work on that Irish accent a bit more, Martin,’ she teased. ‘Eton and Oxford plum doesn’t quite do it.’

‘I say,’ he drawled with a comical show of hurt pride. ‘Steady on. I’ll have you know I was quite something in the Oxford drama group.’

Peggy was smiling as he went off to inspect Ron’s vegetable plot, and she lifted Daisy out of the tub and began to dry her. Once her nappy and thin vest were on, and the bonnet tethered under her chin, she put her in the pram with her bottle of weak cordial, and pulled up the hood to keep off the sun.

‘Are we going to have that gin and tonic? Only I’m getting a bit parched with all this sun,’ Cordelia piped up rather querulously.

‘I’ll get the glasses and slice up this lemon now Daisy’s organised,’ said Peggy. ‘Martin, there’s another deckchair in the basement. Make yourself at home.’

She hurried indoors and found some mismatched glasses in the dining-room cupboard. They hadn’t been used since the wonderful send-off Martin and Ron had arranged before Jim and Frank had to leave for their training camp barracks.

She stood in the neglected and cluttered dining room, deep in her memories. It had been a marvellous day, for Martin had arranged to bring Anne, Rose and both her young sons for a short visit as a special surprise. But, of course, the merriment had withered away as they’d all eventually had to say goodbye, not knowing when they would be together again.

Not wanting to dwell on these poignant memories, she gave the glasses a quick rinse under the tap, sliced the lemon as thinly as she could, grabbed a towel from the pile on the table, and then returned to the garden.

Martin had been busy during her short absence, she noted. He’d stripped off his uniform jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves and taken off his tie. There were now five deckchairs placed within the shadow of the vast umbrella, and he’d managed to unearth the old bedside table from Ron’s tip of a room, and had covered it with a large square of bright blue silk.

When Peggy looked at him questioningly, he grinned. ‘I thought the others might come back, hence the extra chairs,’ he explained. ‘And I brought the scarf with me for just this purpose. Thought it might liven things up a bit and make tiffin special.’

‘It’s far too good to be used as a tablecloth,’ Peggy protested as she handed him the towel. ‘I’ll fetch one of mine.’ Before he could give her an argument, she’d shot back indoors, fetched one of her mother’s hand-embroidered linen cloths she used for best and returned to the garden.

Cordelia was in raptures over the scarf. ‘Oh, you naughty boy,’ she twittered. ‘It’s lovely. But you shouldn’t have.’

‘It was made for you,’ he said affectionately. ‘The colour matches your eyes.’

‘You really do talk a lot of nonsense, Martin,’ chuckled Peggy as she smoothed the cloth over the table and laid out the bottles, glasses and saucer of lemon slices. ‘Cordelia is quite beside herself, and you’re beginning to sound like my Jim. He’s always full of the blarney.’

Martin grinned and poured out the drinks, adding a sliver of lemon, before he raised his glass. ‘Here’s to a pleasant afternoon in the sun. Chin chin.’

Peggy took a sip and sighed with pleasure. There was nothing like a gin and tonic in the garden on a hot summer’s day.

An hour later Cordelia had fallen asleep with her chin dipped to her chest, her straw hat tilted askew as she gently snored. Peggy carefully adjusted the hat and took the empty glass out of her hand before it could fall and smash on the paving.

‘I think you were a bit heavy-handed with the gin, Martin. Poor Cordelia’s not used to such large measures,’ she scolded softly as she returned to her deckchair. ‘I’m feeling decidedly tiddly too, if the truth be known, but it was a lovely treat. Thank you.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ He stretched his long legs, leaned back and closed his eyes against the sun. ‘I get so little time to relax and really unwind, and with Anne and Rose down in Somerset, it’s wonderful to come here and feel at home.’

Peggy’s heart was warmed by this sweet sentiment. ‘You know you’re always very welcome, Martin.’ She lit a cigarette, checked on the still sleeping Daisy and returned to her chair. ‘Have you been to your cottage lately?’

‘It’s near enough to Cliffe aerodrome to pop over on a fairly regular basis to make sure there aren’t any burst pipes or unwanted visitors. I feel rather mean not renting it out, but I keep hoping this war will be over soon and Anne and I can move back in with Rose and make it a home again.’

‘Do you think things are beginning to turn in our favour now we have the Americans on our side? The news on the wireless doesn’t really tell us much, and it’s a bit frustrating at times not to have a complete picture.’

Martin shifted in the deckchair. ‘The news is censored, of course, because so much of what we’re doing has to be kept secret from the enemy. As you’ve probably guessed by the number of planes going over here, we’ve been on blanket bombing ops night and day for several weeks. The RAF has carried out night attacks on a thousand-mile front from Norway to France, but our main targets have been Bremen, Essen and Bremerhaven. Northern France is another target, and the German factories in Lille.’

He squinted into the sun and put on a pair of dark glasses. ‘A new offensive on the Eastern Front has begun, for the Russians have lost control of Crimea, and the Germans are beginning to drive towards Stalingrad.’

He lit a cigarette and then gave a deep sigh. ‘There have been retaliations because of our bombing campaigns, with a nasty raid over Southampton the other day, and some in the West as well as here and in the Midlands. And we’re paying a heavy price, Peggy. I lost eight excellent young men the other night.’

Peggy saw the anguish in his face and heard the break in his voice, and felt a heart-wrenching ache for all those young lives cut brutally short. She put her hand on his arm. ‘How are
you
coping, Martin?’

He sat forward in the deckchair, his elbows on his knees as he stared into space and puffed on his cigarette. ‘The top brass has ordered me to do fewer ops, so I fly a desk more often than not, and try to keep a patriarchal eye on my young men.’

Peggy didn’t speak as he paused, for she could see he was struggling with some very strong emotions.

His voice was unsteady as he continued. ‘Some of them are barely out of school, Peggy, with only a few hours of flying solo under their belts. I’ve seen them white with terror and trembling like a leaf as they head out to climb into their kites. But their chins are up, and not one of them would ever admit their fear or chicken out of an op. They are so fiercely determined to do their bit that it breaks my heart when they don’t come back.’

‘I don’t know how you can bear it,’ she murmured.

He ground the cigarette beneath his shoe and sat straighter. ‘It’s my job, Peggy. They’re my boys, and they look to me to stay strong and always be there for them when things go wrong.’

As Martin fell silent, Peggy could see that he wanted to talk, to perhaps give vent to some of the fears and stresses he’d been under for the past three years. For Martin had taken part in the Battle of Britain, had flown on endless missions over France and Germany, and had had the unenviable task of having to write letters to the parents of the boys who hadn’t made it home again. And yet she could understand his reluctance to talk, for once he started, she suspected he wouldn’t be able to stop.

She sat quietly in the sunny suburban back garden with her baby asleep in the pram, and Cordelia gently snoring beside her as the birds sang joyfully in the nearby trees. All was calm on this summer’s day, and a world away from the horrors Martin must have had to face, and she could only guess at the turmoil in her son-in-law’s thoughts.

‘My chaps are under increasing pressure these days, so when they are free to play, they play hard. They can get a bit carried away at times, but it’s good for them to let off steam, and I thoroughly approve as long as it doesn’t affect their judgement during operations. And yet I’m all too aware that the heartiness and gung-ho spirit are employed to hide the underlying stresses and fears we’ve all experienced. Even the bravest and best suffer from terrors, though they’d never in a million years admit to it.’

Peggy realised he was speaking not only about his men, but about himself and the fears he’d had to hide, and she wondered how long it would be before he reached breaking point. For no one was invincible – not even Martin – and that thought made her very anxious. And yet she said nothing, knowing he had yet to finish talking.

‘They live for the moment,’ he continued softly, ‘and rarely talk about their private lives and the families they’ve left behind in the world beyond the aerodromes. But I can always tell when they’ve had bad news from home, or they’ve been dumped by some silly girl. It shows in their eyes, and in the sudden and uncharacteristic loss of concentration.’

He offered his cigarette case to Peggy, and when their cigarettes were lit, sat back in his chair again and stared at Ron’s vegetable patch. ‘There’s one young pilot in my squadron at the moment who is barely twenty-six, but he’s one of the best flyers I’ve had the privilege to know. He’s hugely experienced, having flown in air shows before the war, and although he’s more than earned the right to fly a desk or train new pilots, he’s just begun his second tour of ops.’