Spoils of War (29 page)

‘The flowers are beautiful!’ Gabrielle exclaimed, walking into the room and smelling them.

‘The national flower of Wales,’ Angelo said proudly.

‘It is a pity they have no perfume.’

Gina took the remark personally as though she should have ensured better – and perfumed – flowers.

‘The bedroom is next door.’ Luke led the way.

Tony sensed Gabrielle’s disappointment – and disgust – as they looked at the washstand with its chipped toilet set and cheap deal bedroom suite, so discoloured by age and mistreatment that no amount of polishing could disguise the abuse it had been subjected to by eleven Ronconi children.

‘It’s a start, Gabrielle,’ he ventured.

‘Am I going to live here?’

‘Until we are married, and then I’ll move in.’

She turned and smiled at Gina. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’

Upset by the lack of mention of the rooms, it was as much as Gina could do to mutter, ‘That’s all right.’

‘Where are the bathroom and kitchen?’ Gabrielle asked Tony.

‘The toilet is outside and the kitchen is in the café.’

‘Tony, we should talk about this place. Perhaps we could sell it and buy something with better living accommodation.’

‘I’ll get your supper.’ Angelo ran down the stairs. Gina and Luke followed, leaving Tony to explain to his fiancée that the café wasn’t even his to sell.

Chapter Fifteen

‘What do you suggest I do while you talk to Alma – alone. Sit in the car and freeze? Or would you prefer me to disappear into thin air until such time you decide you’re ready for a lift home?’ Andrew negotiated the narrow bend out of Penuel Lane into Taff Street and pulled into the kerb outside Charlie’s shop.

‘I’m not expecting you to do anything, Andrew, but as you’re obviously niggly after your long day, it might be best if you go home.’

‘And if I do that, how are you going to get up Penycoedcae hill. Fly?’

‘Taxi.’

‘As if you’ll find one at this time of night.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll have a swift half in the New Inn and be back here in a quarter of an hour. Will that be enough time for all the private, “women only” things you want to say to Alma?’

Bethan didn’t answer him. Slamming the passenger door, she left the car and walked up to Alma’s door. He slid back the window.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ he called after her.

‘I haven’t a stop watch.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

‘I
am!’

‘If you’re not out, I’ll knock the door.’ Grinding the gears, he drove away.

‘I heard the car.’ Alma had appeared on her doorstep.

‘I should think just about the whole of Taff Street did the way Andrew’s driving, and you’re a fibber. You didn’t hear anything, you’ve been looking out the window for us.’

‘Guilty. I’ve got sandwiches, sherry and coffee all ready. Tell me,’ she demanded, before they even reached the top of the stairs, ‘what is Masha like?’

‘Tired, old, worn out before her time.’

‘Does she look like me?’

Bethan waved her hand from side to side. ‘Difficult to say. Her eyes are the same colour.’

‘And her hair?’

‘Grey.’

‘You must have talked.’

‘She only speaks Russian.’

‘And Charlie? How did he look at her when they met? Could you tell if he still loves her? Is he moving in with her? Did he speak Russian to her? Of course, he must have if she doesn’t speak English. His son? What is his son like …?’

‘One question at a time,’ Bethan pleaded as she led the way into Alma’s living room. ‘You know Charlie far better than I do. I find it impossible to work out what he thinks about anything unless he tells me outright but he did ask me to call and see you now.’

‘You’re not just saying that?’

‘Would I do that to you?’ Bethan hugged her before sitting down.

‘Did he give you any messages for me?’ Alma poured two sherries and handed Bethan one.

‘He just said he’d be grateful if I called in on you.’

‘He knew I’d be worried about him travelling up to London and back without a break.’

‘Alma, I’ve been watching you and Charlie ever since he heard Masha was alive. Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’re being just a bit too calm and rational about his leaving? Haven’t you even thought of fighting back?’

‘Fighting who, Beth? The man I love, or a woman who on your own admittance is
“tired, old, and worn-out before her time”.’

‘Charlie’s given her the house; he’s prepared to support her. After sixteen years apart I can’t see that she has the right to demand any more from him. From what you’ve told me, he was eighteen and Masha seventeen when they were separated. That’s barely out of childhood. I remember that age. You think you know what you want but you haven’t a clue what life is about.’

‘How old were you when you met Andrew?’

‘Nineteen, which proves my point. I thought I couldn’t live without him but I managed very well for six years. Charlie was twenty-eight when he married you. He was a man, not a boy, and you’ve only got to look at him whenever your name is mentioned. He loves you, Alma, I’m sure of it.’

‘And you don’t think he loves Masha?’

Bethan fell silent as she recalled that first look between them on the quayside. Was it possible for a man to love two women at the same time? ‘I can’t read his mind. If you want to know who he loves more, Masha or you, you’ll have to ask him.’

‘Is that what you think I should do?’

‘I think you should demand that he stay with you and Theo. You’ve made it too easy for him to leave. It occurred to me tonight when I was showing his son around the house …’

‘Peter. What is he like, Beth?’

‘An absolute monster.’ Bethan saw the look of confusion on Alma’s face. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that but even Charlie agreed with Andrew when he warned the boy was trouble. He’s aggressive, rude, made absolutely no effort to hide his hatred of Charlie …’

‘How can he possibly hate Charlie? He’s his father!’

‘He’s very attached to his mother. I’m guessing that he blames Charlie for deserting her before he was born.’

‘But Charlie didn’t walk away from her willingly. Hasn’t anyone told him what happened?’

‘Believe you me, there’s no telling that boy anything. But I shouldn’t be talking about him like this. As far as looks go, be warned, he’s a mirror image of Charlie when he first came to Pontypridd. Line him, Theo and Charlie up and they could be the same person at different ages.’

‘Poor Charlie, having to cope with a difficult son on top of everything else.’ Alma sat at the table and picked up her sherry.

‘Poor Alma, more like.’

‘Beth, I know you’re only thinking of me and Theo, but please, don’t suggest I complicate the situation by making demands of Charlie that he won’t be able to meet. Things are difficult enough for him as it is. I know it must have been hard for you and Andrew to see him with another woman …’

‘Dear God! You are the most unselfish person I’ve ever met.’

‘Try and put yourself in my place, Beth. What would you do if Andrew had another wife?’

‘Put the flags out and give her a month’s rations to take him away.’

‘You would not.’ Alma laughed as she brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.

‘Try me. Find a woman who claims to have married him before me, and I’ll pack his bag for him.’

‘Things still difficult between you two?’

‘Impossible. ‘

‘I asked you earlier what you’d do if you were me, I know what I’d do if I were you. Hold on to Andrew with everything I have.’

Bethan glanced at her watch. ‘I have to go, Andrew only gave me fifteen minutes.’

‘I’m sorry, I’ve been keeping you talking when you must be exhausted from travelling.’

‘I’ll be down tomorrow for a longer chat.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’ As Bethan ran down the stairs she couldn’t help thinking of her instinctive reply to Alma’s advice, one that fortunately had gone no further than being phrased in her own mind. She didn’t want to hold on to Andrew with everything she had, because she no longer loved him. It was as simple and final as that.

Charlie picked up one of the bowls Mrs Lane had set out on the kitchen table and ladled stew into it. Taking a piece of the bread she had cut and laid out on the breadboard, he placed it on a side plate next to the bowl. He looked up as his son walked into the room carrying Masha’s tray.

‘Would you like me to serve you some stew?’

‘No.’ Peter set the tray on the table. Half of one slice of bread had gone and about a quarter of the stew.

‘Your mother didn’t eat very much.’

‘We didn’t get this much food in any of the camps in a week. It’s going to take her time to learn to live off the fat of the land.’

Allowing his son’s sniping to pass without comment, Charlie took the tray and carried it into the wash house. Returning to the table he was surprised to see Peter helping himself to the stew. After his refusal to eat anything from the hamper in the train he’d begun to wonder if the boy was prepared to starve himself as a matter of pride.

Sitting opposite Peter, Charlie began to eat. The stew was good and the quality of meat better than he’d tasted in years but he couldn’t help contrasting it with Alma’s. She had a way with herbs, of adding sprinklings of flavourings that most housewives didn’t think of. Probably tips learned during her childhood and adolescence when her widowed mother didn’t have the money to buy good-quality food. He could recall sage, mint, dill and thyme growing in the pots she kept on the kitchen windowsill, but there were probably others. In comparison, Mrs Lane’s stew was bland and tasteless.

He broke his bread carefully into four symmetrical pieces, then poured himself a glass of water, all the while taking sly glances at Peter, who was eating as though he hadn’t seen food in a month.

‘We should talk tomorrow,’ he suggested, realising that Peter wouldn’t speak again until spoken to.

‘Why?’

‘Now you’re here, you have to do something.’

‘What do you mean?’ The boy pushed his bowl away and glared at Charlie.

‘School – work – something.’

‘What do you do?’ Peter crossed his arms and stared belligerently.

‘Work in a shop – a cooked meat and pie shop. I could find you something there or in the kitchens where they make the pies.’

‘Women’s work,’ Peter dismissed scornfully.

‘There must be something you want to do. You speak so many languages, perhaps you should study.’

‘I was a
Kapo
in the Portland Cement factory at Auschwitz.’ When Peter saw Charlie wince at the word
‘Kapo’
he allowed himself a small smile of triumph. He had finally succeeded in hurting this apparently imperturbable man. ‘They gave me a whip.’

‘I do know how the Germans treated
Kapos
and how they ordered the
Kapos
to treat their fellow prisoners. I’m surprised they considered you old enough for the responsibility.’

‘I told them I was twenty.’

‘And they believed you?’

‘I was bigger than most of the men and being a
Kapo
meant I could make things easier for my mother.’

‘Well, there are no openings for
Kapos
with whips in Pontypridd. So, you’ll have to think of something else.’

‘You’re a rich man, you can keep me.’

‘What gave you the idea I was rich?’

‘This house. Bethan John said you bought it for my mother and me. And now all this food.’

‘This stew was made with meat a friend donated,’ Charlie informed him, twisting the truth about William and the black market meat. ‘Don’t think we’ll be eating like this every day. There’s food rationing in this country. And this house took ten years’ savings.’

‘Money you earned working in a shop?’ Peter asked contemptuously.

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t work in a shop.’

‘Then we’ll have to find you something else.’

‘I’ll find my own work and my own way of making money.’ Lifting his foot on to the chair next to him he pulled a stiletto from the back of the heel of his shoe. As Charlie watched, he drew his thumb down the edge of the long blade. A thin red line opened up and blood welled out. He sucked it from his hand, all the while staring into Charlie’s eyes.

‘If your own work and way of making money involves stealing or knifing people you’ll end up in prison.’

‘I’ve heard about British prisons. They are like Russian rest homes.’

‘Possibly, but for you prison won’t be the end of it. You will be sent back.’

‘To Russia?’

For the first time Charlie saw a trace of fear in the boy’s eyes. ‘I doubt any other country will have you.’

‘But you’re here.’

‘And I had to sign a document stating I’d guarantee you and your mother’s good behaviour and ensure that you both observed the laws of the land which basically means you forgetting everything you’ve learned about life in the camps. You give the police reason to think you’re a criminal or a danger to others and they’ll lock you up, then deport you.’

‘And my mother. If that happened? If I was deported, you’d look after her?’

‘I’d prefer to do it with your help.’

Peter returned his knife to his boot, concealing the handle beneath his trouser turn-up. Sitting back at the table, he picked up his spoon and proceeded to finish what was left of his stew.

‘Would you like to go out tomorrow, take a look at the town, perhaps buy some clothes for yourself?’

‘I’m going out tonight.’

‘Would you like me to come with you?’

‘No.’ Cleaning the last vestiges of stew from his bowl with a piece of bread, Peter pushed it to one side; Charlie picked up the dirty dishes and carried them into the wash house.

‘Would you like some tea? I can make it Russian style,’ Charlie offered when he returned.

‘Have you got vodka?’

‘No,’ Charlie lied.

‘Then I don’t want anything. I am going to see my mother.’ Leaving the table, he ran upstairs. Charlie waited until he heard Masha’s bedroom door close then he went into the hall, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialled the number of Pontypridd police station.

‘Did you have enough time to say all you wanted to Alma?’ Andrew enquired a little shame-faced, as he pulled up outside Charlie’s shop to see Bethan waiting in the doorway.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied frostily. ‘Did you enjoy your swift half in the New Inn?’

‘Not really. Bethan …’

‘Andrew, I’m exhausted, do you mind if we just go up to Graig Avenue, pick up the children and go straight home?’

‘If that’s what you want.’

‘That’s what I want,’ she echoed dismally as he drove up Taff Street.

‘Hello. How’s the baby?’ Liza kissed Gina’s cheek as she bumped into her and Luke leaving the café.

‘The baby’s fine, Liza.’ Gina managed a small smile. ‘It’s nice to see you. Angelo didn’t mention that you had a day off.’

‘It’s tomorrow, but I thought I’d catch the last bus up tonight and surprise Angelo.’

‘He could do with some cheering up,’ Luke said, as an angry argument resounded from the kitchen.

‘Angelo and Tony?’

‘Like cat and dog. But as Angelo’s in charge for the rest of the night, Maggie’s serving, so if you want anything, ask her. I have to get Luke home. He’s on early shift in the morning.’

‘Luke is not a baby to be “got” anywhere,’ Luke protested, his nerves, like Gina’s, stretched to breaking point by the tension generated from Gabrielle’s arrival.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Tony’s German fiancée has arrived, but don’t worry, she’s upstairs and not likely to come down again tonight, so you should be safe enough. See you, Liza.’ Gina closed the café door behind her.