The Chandelier Ballroom (22 page)

Lifting the edge of the dust sheet before she could say anything, he shone the torch on the crystal embellishments so that they glittered like the diamonds on the ring now nestling on her engagement finger.

‘Hey-presto!’ he declared in triumph, his earlier frustration forgotten.

For a moment she stared, then in an odd tone said, ‘Is that what they say once hung in the ballroom of the big house?’

He shrugged, faintly disappointed at her lack of wonder. ‘I suppose so,’ he offered. Why hadn’t the magnificent thing thrilled her, made her gasp as it had him that first time he’d seen it?

There was a further moment of silence then to his amazement she shrank back. ‘Cover it up! Quick, cover it up! I don’t want to look at it!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Don’t you know?’ she said as he let the cover drop. ‘It’s haunted. You must have heard. In the village they say there’s a ghost in that house that made the people there do terrible things. People say it has something to do with this chandelier.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Norman scoffed, strangely angry.

She was backing away from the unevenly shaped dust sheet.

‘It’s true – the people living there in the early 1930s, they say, brought that thing with them and it gave them nothing but bad luck. The tale goes that the wife left her husband over a woman, then the woman disappeared and the husband drowned himself.’ She was beginning to gabble. ‘And then the next people that came to live there, the wife killed her husband and said she was told to do it by a ghost in that room. And there were tales about it being something to do with that chandelier, about a woman hanging herself from it way back in the 1920s.’

Norman would have burst out laughing but she seemed so scared that he kept a straight face out of concern for her.

‘That’s a load of Tommy-rot, darling,’ was all he could find to say.

‘It isn’t!’ she shot back at him almost vehemently. ‘I had the same eerie feeling looking at it just now – a horrible feeling. I don’t like it. I want to leave. I just want to go home!’

The fear in her voice pierced right through him, his heart beginning to pound so fast it seemed to be strangling him. Without a word he hurried her outside. The rain had stopped. He began to breathe easier, though she was still panting from panic as he turned, snapped the padlock shut and pocketed the key. He knew she would never set foot in there again.

No good trying to calm her by scoffing. The best thing was to take her back to the fence, climb over it with her and conduct her to the end of the dark lane. There he would have to leave her to go the rest of the way home by herself. He knew he’d be taking a chance of being seen out of camp, but he couldn’t leave her to negotiate that dark lane alone. He would have worried himself sick until he heard from her again – if he had.

When he got back to the hut, Mac would no doubt ask him if he’d enjoyed his walk in the rain, if his splitting headache felt better, a knowing grin on his face as he put two and two together. Tomorrow he’d probably make some comment on how love wasn’t just blind but quite obviously oblivious of discomfort as well.

He just hoped most of the platoon already had their heads down or were reading, uninterested in his comings and goings as he got out of his damp uniform and into bed to close his eyes and try to forget how Val’s words about the chandelier had thoroughly shaken him, spoiling the joy of his surprise birthday present to her.

‘Hear you’ve managed to find yourself a nice little bit of stuff, Bowers,’ Sergeant Price whispered in Norman’s ear as he came off detail one afternoon. ‘Had her yet, or haven’t you got the guts to go for it?’

Norman said nothing, keeping his gaze lowered. To have met Price’s taunting grin with a glare would have just been asking for trouble. He was meeting Valerie this evening and Price could have stopped his pass in the blink of an eye.

Getting one was becoming more and more difficult. It was well into May and something was definitely in the air. Training had been stepped up, with further talk of an imminent second front, many having noticed an increasing amount of troop movement; there were whispers of embarkation leave soon to be granted, someone having heard from another who’d heard of someone having seen it in orders – nothing positive, but rumour had a tendency to possess more than a grain of truth and Norman found himself dissolving into quiet panic.

If he was lucky enough to get a twenty-four-hour leave, he intended taking Valerie to see his parents. He’d written to them about her, had had a letter from them saying they hoped he knew what he was doing, which had immediately riled him, as if he were some child to be guided and advised.

Her parents had smiled on their engagement, yet he couldn’t help feeling it had politely covered up a wish to have been asked first. ‘I do hope you’re not both going to rush into marriage,’ her mother had said anxiously. ‘What with a war on and all that.’

But it was precisely war that was driving couples to get married as soon as they could lest they never saw each other again.

‘Valerie’s only just turned twenty, far too young to get married. She’s hardly seen anything of life yet.’

To which her husband had nodded sombrely as she went on, ‘We were so worried when she had to register for National Service last year. She has never been away from home. Fortunately they decided that the work she was doing in Brentwood Main Post Office was essential.’

‘We won’t be getting married for at least a couple of years,’ he told them, wondering if Valerie might have liked the adventure of going into one of the women’s services. But then he might never have met her.

But it showed how much her parents coddled her, and when they did marry he could find her mother forever interfering in their marriage, clinging to her daughter like she was a baby.

Being in the army these two years he’d become independent and free of his own parents’ over-protective notions of parental guidance, as he now saw it. If he were sent overseas, neither of them could ever tell him what to and what not to do. He’d made up his mind about that. He might even be able to marry Val by special licence beforehand if she consented, and he was sure she would.

Sergeant Price was right in one way, he hadn’t imposed himself on her and had no intention of doing so without her agreement. Even then he was prepared to respect her, which he bet Price would never have considered with a girl. Anyway, sod Price and what he thought! Outside barracks he was his own person.

That evening he stood outside the Baker’s Arms, the place where he and Valerie always met. It was early and still light. He had until 23:59 to be back in barracks and he was taking her to the pictures in Brentwood. The bus returning to the village passed the camp gate around eleven, plenty of time to say goodnight before leaving her. Valerie was slowly growing bolder, letting him touch her in some dark corner of one of the lanes. She would sigh with pleasure at his touch, confident now of their love with his ring on her finger. But he still felt he needed to treat her gently, still fearing resistance from her.

Given time she would eventually let him make love to her properly. That was if he was still in this country by then, which, the way things were rushing ahead, didn’t seem likely. So little time left, it seemed to him, but he was not prepared to force her. In that, he
was
his own person, say what Sergeant Nigel Price liked.

A bus from Brentwood passed, pulling up at the stop further down the road. Norman glanced at his watch, six thirty already. Hardly time to go to the pictures if she didn’t come soon. The one to Brentwood would be passing any minute; if they missed that it would be too late to go to the pictures.

Then he saw her, coming towards him at a run. He noticed she was in the same suit she usually wore for work, clothing coupons allowing for very little daily change of such garments.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ she gasped as she reached him, lifting her face to his to give him a kiss, her lips soft, making him feel warm inside. ‘Left work late and missed my usual bus, had to wait for the next one. No time to even go home and change. Hope you don’t mind.’

Of course he didn’t mind, he merely felt deep relief. He said so and had her reach up and kiss him again, her arms about his neck, no care for passers-by seeing them in close embrace. But he was rather concerned at her not going home before they left, knowing how protective her parents were of her.

‘You ought to let your parents know you’re home,’ he said sombrely. ‘Surely they’d expect you to, just to know that you’re all right.’

But she was in a frivolous mood. ‘Too late! The bus will be here any minute. And they do know I’m going to the pictures with you this evening.’ Just lately she seemed to have gained new independence, which he took to be due to her newly engaged status.

‘Have you had anything to eat?’ he asked and saw her smile.

‘No, but I’m not hungry. I just needed to get back here and see you.’

A thrill of possession went through him that in order to see him all the quicker she was prepared to sacrifice even a tiny cheese sandwich or a plain bun, often all there was to buy from a cake shop in these days of rationing, unless one went into a café or restaurant that enjoyed special treatment.

‘The main film doesn’t start until gone eight,’ he said, now feeling in complete control. ‘We’ll get something to eat in that café opposite before going in.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said, planting another kiss on his cheek.

Catching sight of their bus coming into view, he asked, ‘Do you still want to go to the pictures?’, feeling that he should at least allow her an opportunity to make a decision for herself.

He saw her nod emphatically and felt glad. It would be a while yet before it got dark. But in the back row of the cinema, enveloped in darkness, he could sit with his arm around her, his free hand gently caressing her knee as it had done the last time they’d gone. Then she’d made no effort to push it away and he was sure she had enjoyed his touch, though if he had let the hand travel upwards she might have stopped it.

This time he planned to let his hand move slowly and gently upwards, and if she eased herself away before he reached the part he most yearned to rest his hand on, he would know it was a silent hint that he’d gone far enough for the time being. Or maybe she would not – he would never know if he didn’t at least attempt it. It wasn’t for carnal pleasure that he needed to have his hand lay on that secret place, but a real need to be as near a part of her as possible.

If she did ease his hand away he would understand, not become too impatient. Difficult not to though, with the imminent threat of his unit being transported far away, tearing them apart, possibly forever. Perhaps this evening, if he explained, which as yet he’d not done, fearing to upset her when it might only be a threat after all, she might even consent to being made love to properly. He would just have to wait and see.

It proved a longish wait, standing in the queue, moving forward in slow erratic paces before finally being let in, and he was glad they’d had a quick meal. Finally allowed inside the foyer, dingy from blackout shielding, by a uniformed elderly commissionaire, younger men mostly in the forces, he bought their tickets by the light of a dim torch and, taking Val’s arm protectively, followed the usherette to their seats inside the almost full, darkened auditorium. But detecting two empty ones in the back row he made for them instead, bringing a knowing smile to the usherette’s lips as she left them to assist other patrons.

The film was one that Val had been aching to see:
Meet Me In St Louis
with Judy Garland and little Margaret O’Brien, at which she ooh’d and aah’d most of the way through, shed a tear or two in the sadder parts, caught up by Hollywood’s opulence compared to Britain’s present austerity. She hardly seemed to notice his hand caressing her knee.

With the second feature, which they had come in halfway through and were not overly interested in, she soon became more aware of his hand on the flesh of her upper leg. For a moment she let it linger, but only for a moment before easing the hand away. In the flickering white glow from the screen he saw her glance about at those seated nearby

‘No, Norman, not here,’ she whispered, but it was said mildly. She wasn’t rebuking him. Indeed it seemed to his ears almost reluctant. ‘There are people standing behind us.’

For the first time he realised that with the theatre full, any overflow of patrons were required to remain standing at the barrier behind the rear row to watch the film, while waiting for seats as they were made available by others leaving at whatever part of the film they’d entered. Suddenly embarrassed, he hastily moved his hand, she quickly straightening her skirt, still glancing furtively around.

‘This is where we came in anyway,’ she whispered, pulling her jacket around her and gathering up her bag with exaggerated care while he busily retrieved his forage cap from its shoulder strap and put it on.

Hardly had they risen from their seats, obliging other people to get up to allow them to get past, than two from the queue at the barrier hurried past to occupy them.

On the bus home they sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, while he watched her constantly fingering her engagement ring, twisting it round and round on her finger with her other hand. What was she thinking?

He said nothing but through his mind flowed one sense of regret after another: he shouldn’t have tried to touch her like that; maybe he shouldn’t have rushed her into this engagement; maybe she was silently regretting it; had he been wrong to have made her steal into camp that night like some cheap tart so he could show her that bloody chandelier – he could have chosen somewhere far more suitable to propose.

She’d never mentioned that night, but he couldn’t help remembering the way she had reacted to the sight of the thing, feeling that even now it still haunted her, yet he dare not ask.

Glancing up she noticed him watching her silently and she smiled, ceasing to fiddle with her ring and clutching his arm instead.

‘I do love you so,’ she said in a voice hardly audible, sending an instant flood of relief through him. He had no need to blame himself for anything. She loved him.