War Baby (42 page)

Ruby grinned. ‘I did hear about it.'

‘I think she wants you and Mary to cater for it,' she hissed, still keeping her voice low so that Mrs Darwin-Kemp and her guests heard nothing. ‘She's invited all the high-ranking officers from the base and keeps hinting that a famous general is coming too. She's desperate to bag herself a general.'

‘You make him sound like a pheasant brought down by a shooting party,' Ruby whispered back.

Gertie grinned broadly. Her crooked front teeth did nothing for her looks, but her sense of humour made up for it.

‘Them officers and that general – if she gets hold of that important a personage – won't know what's hit them – not once Mrs Darwin-Kemp's got 'em in her sights!'

Both Ruby and her friend smothered a laugh, one hand clasped tightly across their mouths. Not that the laugh could be kept in any more than the giggles that exploded behind their hands.

Ruby finally controlled herself. ‘I've left the bread on the kitchen table. I trust she'll let us know about the catering.'

Gertie bobbed her head. ‘Everything gets left on that kitchen table. If you could see the meat and the cheese and—' Suddenly Gertie bit her bottom lip, her focus shifting nervously sidelong. ‘Forget I said that.'

The moment she said it, Ruby knew she would most certainly not forget it. Something was going on here and Gertie was doing her best to hold on to her job – not there were likely to be any takers in this day and age. Bettina had told Mary she suspected Mrs Darwin-Kemp, for all her social connections, was buying food on the black market. Mary had dutifully shared the information with her sister.

‘I'll let myself out then. I take it the money's in the usual place?'

It was Mrs Darwin-Kemp's habit to leave payment for goods in the teapot and to trust that if nobody was around, a person's honesty would prevail and nothing other than what was due would be taken. All the same, Ruby preferred to let somebody know she had been and was also taking what she was owed.

Ruby went back into the kitchen. Seeing as no cooking was going on at present, there was no light on. Even so the kitchen was bright enough; in fact, it had a warm atmosphere, a bit like the bakery after a batch of loaves had been baked. There was no smell of cooking, no smell of anything much except for the earthy aroma of a basket of vegetables left on the draining board.

She put the bread in the white enamel bread bin. The plum pudding was destined for the larder.

On opening the door she found herself faced with a large truckle of Cheddar cheese and the biggest leg of lamb she had ever seen. Both were stamped US Army.

She bit her lip. Buying food on the black market was an offence. It was obvious the meat and cheese had come from the base, but via a third party. That was how the black market worked: food was stolen and handed out of the back door of an establishment – such as an army base – by somebody on the inside.

Mrs Darwin-Kemp could get in a lot of trouble buying black-market goods.

She was still in there, her body hidden behind the door when she heard somebody come in from outside. Presuming it was old Tom come in for his afternoon cup of tea, she called out a cheery hello.

‘I've brought teacakes. Would you like one with your cup of tea? I made one or two extra, so don't worry about her counting them and finding one missing.'

‘I sure would, honey, but perhaps another time, another place.'

She popped out from behind the door to find herself looking into a pair of blue eyes and a tanned face. His expression was one of deadly seriousness. His uniform was US Army, though differed from most that she'd seen. His shoulders were broad, his chin square and he was looking down his nose at her as though considering whether he should clap her in irons.

‘I'm here on official business.'

He certainly seemed as though he meant business, standing there, legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back.

‘Is that so?'

She stood facing him, arms folded. He hadn't introduced himself and she considered his manner overly officious, a shame really. If he wasn't so rude he'd be quite attractive.

‘Yes, ma'am. I have to warn you here and now that depending on the answers you give me, we may have to involve the local police.'

Ruby raised her eyebrows. This was quite amusing. She was pretty sure he was assuming she was the lady of the house and seeing as he had failed to introduce himself properly, she wouldn't enlighten him.

‘Now what can I have done to deserve that?'

Her tart response did nothing to puncture his air of superiority or lessen the ramrod stiffness of his stance, as though his spine was made of iron. ‘I think you know the answer to that, ma'am. Supplies have been going missing from our supply depot, such as …' He dipped two fingers into his breast pocket. They emerged with a notebook and pencil. ‘One large cheese, one leg of lamb …'

She seized her chance to teach Mrs Darwin-Kemp a lesson. ‘I think you'll find them in the larder behind you.'

What to him must have sounded like a confession obviously surprised him. He looked taken aback at first but recovered swiftly, and in one sweeping gesture he had opened the larder door and surveyed the contents.

Ruby came to stand beside him. Side by side they both regarded the cheese and the leg of lamb, the latter wrapped in muslin.

‘Are those the items you have on your list?' She couldn't help the amusement in her voice.

‘I'll have to confiscate these items, ma'am.' He sounded very decided. ‘I'm sorry, but they're the property of the US Army.'

‘As I understand it, they were destined to be
eaten
by members of the US Army.'

A flicker of puzzlement came to his eyes and in that instant he seemed to see her for the first time, though almost guiltily, drinking her in then closing down again.

‘I'm not sure I get your meaning, ma'am.'

‘Well Mr whoever you are, I'll leave you to sort it all out. I'm off home. Goodbye.'

She was almost at the door when he headed her off.

‘You don't live here? This isn't your home?' His expression flickered between surprise and disbelief.

‘No.'

‘But you never said …'

‘You never asked. And you never introduced yourself.'

He made a groaning sound and rolled his head like somebody does when their neck was aching.

Ruby tilted her head to one side. ‘I'm getting the impression that you haven't done this kind of thing before. Just arrived have you?'

‘Two weeks ago. Declan O'Malley. Lieutenant. Military police. But I
have
done this before. I used to be a cop in New York. I need to know your name so I can check it out.'

‘Ruby Sweet.
Kitchen Front
advisor. Ministry of Food.'

He took hold of his notepad and pencil. ‘Address?'

Ruby was getting fed up. She needed to get home and although this young man was very handsome, there was another imprisoned in a Japanese prisoner of war camp that held her attention more. She had a half-finished letter to him awaiting her back at home. She kept writing the letters though so far had not received a reply.

She gave the officer her address and he wrote it down. She was just about to go when he stopped her again. ‘What did you mean about those supplies being eaten by members of the US Army?'

Ruby couldn't help looking smug. ‘Mrs Darwin-Kemp who lives here, is holding a dinner party for your senior officers. I hear there might even be a general in attendance.' She shrugged. ‘I don't know who of course. Things like that are top secret.'

A look of doubt and uncertainty how to proceed flickered in his eyes.

She was feeling pretty uncertain herself.

‘Have you arrested anyone with regard to these missing supplies?' she asked him.

He nodded. ‘We have indeed, ma'am. One of yours I'm afraid. A local man not long out of prison named Gareth Stead.'

Ruby hummed to herself all the way home. Mrs Darwin-Kemp would be allowed to keep her supplies because it was destined for officers, but would be issued with a warning. Gareth Stead, one-time landlord of the Apple Tree public house, had been caught red-handed with a number of other items and would receive a prison sentence. She didn't know how many of his other black-market customers he'd fingered, probably only Mrs Darwin-Kemp, a presiding magistrate who'd sent him down once before. On this occasion she might not find it quite so easy – her on the bench, the defendant who had supplied her standing in the dock. How would she get out of that? Ruby smiled. She'd probably excuse herself as being sick and another magistrate would take her place.

Still, there was a plus side to her run in with the American military police – the Snowdrops, as she'd heard them called. She'd asked Declan O'Malley whether he was coming to the village dance. These dances were happening on a regular basis now and both the American soldiers and the local girls were loving it.

‘Is that a personal invitation?'

She shook her head. ‘I can't do that. You have to sign the list your colonel says he's put on the notice board.'

‘Yeah. Sure. I think I saw it.' Something flickered in his eyes.

‘I'll see you there then.'

‘I'll think about it.'

‘No you won't. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You've already signed it.'

Her guess turned out to be right. There he was, standing beside one of the trucks that had brought the GIs to the dance, counting them as they alighted and got into line. It was raining so there was no hanging about.

He counted his charges again before dismissing them. Once that happened, the young men who had come to fight a war took the steps up to the village hall two at a time, their voices full of bravado and laughter.

Ruby stayed at the bottom of the steps, smiling in the sure knowledge that Lieutenant O'Malley was about to look her way.

‘Ma'am,' he said, touching the peak of his cap.

‘Ruby,' she said. ‘I'm the girl you're going to have the first dance with.'

His face was deadpan. ‘Who said I was?'

‘I did.'

‘I didn't.'

‘Are you refusing me? Come along, Lieutenant. You're here on a goodwill mission. Your job is to further friendly relations across the Atlantic. We're allies, remember?'

Was this man made of stone? He gave no sign that he was attracted to her.

‘You're not doing a very good job of it,' she finally said to him. ‘Now come along.' She caught hold of his hand. ‘Follow me. I promise I won't eat you.'

She sensed him holding back; saw the look on his face. Something stabbed at her heart. That look reminded her of John Smith.

‘I didn't know I had to dance.'

He couldn't dance! That was all it was. He couldn't dance!

She shook her head. ‘So you've come here to fight, and you can't dance. We'll have to do something about that.'

‘Fighting isn't dancing.' He sounded defensive.

Ruby was adamant. ‘You soldiers know nothing. A quick step can get you out of heaps of trouble – fast!'

With that she grabbed hold of him and dragged him out on to the dance floor. She placed his arms around her waist. For a moment he was rooted to the spot, his eyes unblinking, staring into hers. Then she trod on his toes.

‘Hey!'

‘Imagine the enemy is shooting at your feet. Now lift them. One at a time, right? One, two, three …'

‘That's great,' he said, looking down at his feet as though unsure they didn't belong to him. ‘I might be needing some quick-stepping when I come face to face with the Japs.'

The Japs. The music seemed to become muted at mention of the Far Eastern enemy. John Smith was a prisoner of the Japs. Suddenly she felt guilty dancing with this handsome man while John was far away.

‘I'm sorry,' she said when he asked her for another dance. ‘I promised I would be home early tonight.'

She didn't admit that the promise had been given to herself. She had a letter to write and even though it might not get through to John, at least she would know she had made the effort. John deserved that.

 

 

THE PIECE OF
paper on which was printed the recipe for the National Loaf fluttered to the floor and Stan Sweet made no attempt to pick it up. The recipe was to be strictly adhered to and made from a lesser refined flour than a white loaf with potato flour added. He'd already spouted the details to his daughters and niece. He continued repeating the rest of what he'd read. ‘And the weight's to be reduced from sixteen to fourteen ounces. Fourteen bloody ounces! And we're not allowed to sell it wrapped and neither can we slice it for customers like that Darwin-Kemp woman.'

‘Then she'll have to learn how to use a breadknife, won't she,' declared Ruby who was already mixing the first batch of ingredients for twenty of these new national loaves. ‘And we'll all have to do without white bread.'

If anyone had told her at the beginning of the war that she'd get used to deprivation and carry out government directives without too much protest, she would never have believed them. They'd fared better than most simply because they'd planned things very carefully, plus gaining extra rations so they could carry out their job.

‘Three to five minutes should do it,' she murmured, keeping her head down and concentrating on what she was doing.

From the start of the war her father had carried on running the bakery, putting up with whatever directives he was given, but being told he had to adhere to prescribed ingredients and weight for his own bread had tipped him over the edge. It was his bakery, handed down from grandfather to his father and now to him. He wasn't best pleased.

Once she was sure the dough was ready, she placed it in a lightly oiled container where it would rest for fifteen minutes. After that her father would knock it back, that is, knead it this way and that over the table with his strong hands. Then it would rest for another forty-five minutes. She breathed in its aroma, noting it didn't smell any different from an ordinary loaf.