Someone Special (39 page)

‘They won’t conscript men of your age, surely?’ Constance saw his lips tighten and could have bitten her tongue out. What a dam’ fool thing to have said, especially when she was trying to say what he wanted to hear. But why should she not speak the truth? JJ was thirty-eight, hardly a youngster. He should have a shore job – would have had one had her father behaved the way a father should. She had
asked
him to use his influence to keep JJ on land, and he had simply said that since JJ was an experienced seaman he would probably prefer to be afloat and would be of more use to his country at sea.

‘You make thirty-seven sound like Methuselah,’ JJ grumbled, automatically cutting a year off his age, Constance noticed. ‘I’m pretty damned fit, I can tell you that, a lot fitter than some chaps in their twenties. Do you know, some of our fellows can’t swim? It’s true, there are men in the ranks who’ve been in the Navy for years and they’ve never bothered to learn.’

‘I hope none of you will have to swim,’ Constance said hollowly. ‘I just wish you’d request a transfer, to the Admiralty or somewhere.’

‘That would be in London, and London’s going to be pretty unsafe once the Jerries start bombing,’ JJ said, almost with relish. ‘I’d sooner have a deck beneath my feet than a building crashing down on my head. Now what you’ve got to do, sweetheart, is to keep cheerful, take care of the kids, and generally keep the home fires burning, as they said in the last little lot.’ He gave her a squeeze, then stepped back. ‘Come on, darling; your face is perfect, as
always, so let’s go down and have some lunch before it gets cold.’

‘They’re going to evacuate city children,’ Constance remarked as she got up from her seat, giving one last look in the mirror to check that her seams were straight, her cream and green georgette dress not caught on anything, and her shoulders clear of stray hairs. She had taken the remark about her perfect face with a pinch of salt. She did her best, but she was conscious that, at thirty-two, she was no longer a girl, although she had kept her figure and her complexion was still as smooth as silk. ‘I’m supposed to take several kids, so I suppose I’ll have to, but God knows what they’ll do to the place, little ruffians. They’re coming down from London, you know,’ she added as they walked across the bedroom.

‘Yes, you said earlier. Well, they’ll be company for Anna and Jamie I suppose. Actually, I did wonder whether they might move you out so that they could requisition Goldenstone, as they did last time. Only then they took the horses too, and I don’t suppose they’ll want Miss Muffet or Tandy.’

‘They’re welcome to them, if they’re going to call up all the servants,’ Constance said sourly. She had already suffered with a gardener joining the Royal Norfolks, two maids announcing their intention to go into Norwich to make munitions or aeroplanes, and the scrubbing woman who came from the village demanding a rise since she was, she said, being asked to do more. The thought of having to look after the ponies as well as the house was too much. ‘They can have Libby and Growser too, if they like.’

Libby and Growser were JJ’s labradors. As they began to descend the stairs, JJ turned to her and caught hold of her arm, pulling her to a halt. There was a frown etched on his brow and his eyes had grown cold. He adored his dogs, Constance knew it, and she was almost as jealous of them as she sometimes was of Anna. She smiled quickly,
patting the hand which held her arm, speaking before he could say a word.

‘Just joking, darling. I wouldn’t hurt a hair of their heads, you know that. I’m fond of them too, even though they trek dirt in and jump up at me when I’m wearing my cream linen skirt! Do you really think the Army might requisition Goldenstone, though? I shouldn’t have thought it was big enough.’

‘It’s awfully convenient, that’s the trouble. It’s out of the city, but not too far,’ JJ said rather gloomily. He loved his home and could remember the mess the Army had left behind last time, when they handed it back to the Radwells in 1920. ‘Oh well, if you fill it full of evacuees they won’t have a leg to stand on, so look on the bright side, my old darling. Every curly-headed little ruffian you take in keeps Goldenstone safer from the British Army. Now let’s forget the war for a bit and concentrate on luncheon.’

Anna was in the hall, about to hit the gong a resounding blow when her parents came down the stairs. She smiled at them, then gave the round brass gong the slightest of slight strokes; there wasn’t much need for a gong really, since Jamie was in the kitchen helping Mrs Pound to make gravy and they didn’t have any visitors. Daddy was on leave because something was being done to his ship and he had said he would rather have a couple of days with his wife and children than parties and social engagements.

‘Thanks, darling.’

Constance smiled at Anna as she passed her and Anna smiled back. How strange it was to be as tall as her mother, but then she was thirteen and a half now, her school tunic had had to be let down, for decency’s sake Mummy said, and her hair, though normally confined in two long plaits, reached her waist when it was loose. The
despised chubbiness, which she had hated so much, had disappeared as she got taller, as though she had been stretched from short fat into long thin.

‘Where’s Jamie, dear?’

‘He’s helping Mrs Pound, but he’ll be through in good time. Jamie’s always hungry these days.’

‘Good.’ The three of them went into the dining-room and sat down at the table. ‘I must say I wonder how we’ll manage when food is really rationed, what with Jamie’s appetite and the dogs and everything.’

‘We’ll eat lots of vegetables,’ Anna said as Jamie and Mrs Pound came into the room, pushing the trolley between them. Mrs Pound was a wonderful cook; she was also sixty-six, so how long she would stay when the evacuees arrived was anyone’s guess.

‘Ah, luncheon,’ JJ said heartily. ‘Thanks, Mrs Pound. Come along, James, sit up to the table, there’s a good lad.’

‘Okay, Daddy,’ Jamie said equably. His speech had improved as everyone had said it would and although he usually came twenty-fourth out of a class of twenty-four, he went to a perfectly ordinary school and was, the headmaster said, probably a late developer. Constance had been worried that JJ would want him sent to a prep school next year and to public school when he was thirteen, but now the war had started that probably wouldn’t happen. Anna was glad for Jamie’s sake; he was happy at the village school, talked merrily of going on to one of the Norwich schools, but never mentioned the twin bugbears of Going Away and Boarding School. Anna, who knew him better than most, agreed with her mother that Jamie would never stick it. He wouldn’t whine or complain, he would just run away, and that would make things difficult all round. So in one way, at least, the war was a blessing.

‘Well, Anna?’ JJ said as soon as Mrs Pound had
waddled away, wheezing, and the soup had been served. ‘Been riding?’

‘No, not today. But I’m going sailing with Dan tomorrow; he asked me to crew for him and Mummy said I might so long as I go to church first. Which is fine, since Dan’s going to church first, too.’

‘Dan? Why isn’t he at school?’

‘He is. But his mother had to take him away from boarding school because it cost so much so now he’s in the city, at the Grammar. It’s nice to have someone to muck about with, and we often catch the bus together in the mornings.’

‘I like Dan,’ JJ said, spooning cream of chicken soup into his mouth with great speed and accuracy. ‘Not too keen on his mother, but he’s a decent enough lad. Tell me, Anna, have you written to Nancy lately?’

‘Not for a week, but she telephoned me two nights ago. They’ve been doing dummy runs to the air raid shelter, she says it’s great fun. And William’s joined the Wavy Navy like you, Dad, because he was a sea cadet at school; did you know? And Ben’s going to join the Air Force just as soon as they’ll have him. He wants to fly … oh heck, I forget the name of the plane, but it’s a fighter, Nancy says.’

‘So William’s in our little lot, is he? It’ll be a couple of years before Ben has his chance though, and by then, with luck, it’ll all be over. I say, Connie, has it ever occurred to you that if they’re evacuating kids out of the London slums, other kids might be evacuated from London too? Why can’t you put in for Nancy and Ben? I mean they are our relatives and if Ella came with them …’

‘She won’t,’ Constance said briefly. She finished her soup and put her spoon down neatly. ‘Jamie darling, try not to splash your soup – look at the cloth!’

‘Why won’t she? Surely she understands the danger they’re …’

‘Auntie Ella’s got war work,’ Anna put in, realising that her mother had no wish to answer the question. ‘She’s doing something with the WVS, catering or something, some sort of neighbourhood thing, Nancy said.’

‘Oh! Good for old Ella,’ her brother said. He glanced across at Constance, pointedly collecting the soup dishes. ‘Are you going to do something like that, darling?’

‘If I’m asked,’ Constance said coolly. ‘But we don’t live in a city, villages are different.’ She brightened. ‘I could volunteer as a driver or something … I wish I could join one of the women’s services, they have such glamorous uniforms, but I don’t suppose they’d want a married woman.’

‘What about us, Mummy?’ Jamie said plaintively into the small silence which followed his mother’s words. ‘What would we do if you went away?’

‘It’s all right, old man, I won’t really go,’ Constance said quickly. ‘You and Anna are my war work – and those wretched slum children, of course.’

Anna was up early on Sunday morning, to see what the weather was like. She intended to crew for Dan wet or fine of course, but acknowledged that she would have a battle with her mother if it was wet, and probably another battle with Dad, who knew far better than Mummy how dangerous wet boats could be. But I can swim, Anna thought rebelliously, sitting up in bed and swinging her feet to the floor, so what would it matter if I slid on the deck and ended up in Oulton Broad?

However, as she swished back her curtains, she realised the question was academic. Pale September sunshine flooded the lawn and the cedar tree and deluged the field of barley with its gold. Anna let her glance stray upwards; small white puffs of cloud were moving steadily across the blue arc of the sky. That was good, too; sailing in a flat calm was no fun, Dan would say it was a waste.

So that was all right, then. She would get dressed and go downstairs right away – her wrist watch told her it was only half past seven – and get a breakfast tray ready for Mummy and Dad. After all, Dad was going back to his ship tomorrow or the day after and breakfast in bed was beyond Mrs Pound, who couldn’t manage the stairs. Besides, she and Jamie had been told that, with fewer servants, their mother needed all the help she could get. They were still at the stage of enjoying the novelty of housework and Anna, washing perfunctorily in the bathroom at the end of the corridor, was looking forward to trying her hand at orange juice and coffee, eggs and bacon, crisp brown toast.

Anna cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and tied it up on top with a piece of green ribbon. Then she examined herself in the mirror.
Why
wouldn’t Mummy let her wear a brassiere? She admitted – but only to herself – that she didn’t have much to put in it, but a brassiere would make her look so much more grown-up, so sophisticated. Besides, if she had one she was sure breasts would obligingly grow whereas a liberty bodice was not only no incentive, it was a positive discouragement. Mind you, Anna’s friend Sandra, whose Mum kept the village post office, had recently started being unwell every month and said it was rotten, really horrible.

‘It’s messy and smelly and
vile
,’ she had confided roundly. ‘What’s more, gal Anna, I get belly-ache somethin’ turble. My Mum, she says I can have babies now, but I don’t see that as no advantage, do you?’

Thinking it over, Anna decided that Sandy was right; having babies and being unwell once a month were a big price to pay for under-arm foliage and something to put into a brassiere. Besides, it would all happen one day, so she might as well wait patiently.

Back in her room, she surveyed her wardrobe doubtfully. She didn’t have any really suitable clothes, not the
sort of things other girls wore when they went sailing on the broads. She didn’t have a sailor top or daringly cut slacks … boring old baggy trousers and a striped navy and white blouse would have to do.

The trouble was that she was madly in love with Dan and knew that he thought of her as just a friend. He was always nice to her, sat next to her on the bus when his friends got off, bicycled around the countryside with her when he had nothing better to do, but he simply didn’t consider her as – well, as a girl. If I had a brassiere, or really smart clothes, perhaps he’d see I’m growing up, Anna thought yearningly, heaving on her old trousers and slipping her feet into sandals. But at least he did notice her; he had commented on her slimness at the beginning of the summer holidays.

‘Stopped eating?’ he had asked quizzically. ‘My God, you’re a regular beanpole, young Anna. Here, have an aniseed ball. If you get any thinner, I shan’t be able to see you at all when you stand sideways on.’

She had laughed because she knew he meant it as a joke, but it did warm her heart to realise that she really must be a lot thinner, because a boy wouldn’t have noticed, far less commented, had she lost only a few pounds. Mummy, who had nagged her unrelentingly when she was fat, had hardly commented on her new long shape, except to say that she was outgrowing her strength and really should try to stop before she reached six foot.

‘Tall women have the most awful job to find husbands,’ she had lamented, eyeing her daughter. ‘You’re as tall as me already, Anna, and you’re only thirteen.’

‘It doesn’t matter because there are lots of girls taller than me in my class,’ Anna had said defiantly. What did her mother want – perfection? ‘And at least I don’t have pimples. Lots of girls my age have spots and things. It’s all right, Mummy, honestly.’

But Constance had pounced on this information as
yet another source of discontent. ‘You’ll get spots in another month or two if you go on eating the way you have been,’ she said grimly. ‘I didn’t get spots until I was fifteen, though they didn’t last long because I took care of myself. Just remember, Anna darling, that men …’