‘What’s Charlie up to today?’ Gloria asked. They were all sitting around their usual table in the canteen. ‘She’s not in the office, so I’m guessing she’s either working at the café or with Georgina – or Lily?’
Rosie laughed. ‘That just about sums up Charlie’s where-abouts during a weekend.’
‘So, which one is it?’ Angie asked.
‘Bet you she’s shopping with Lily,’ Dorothy said.
‘She is indeed,’ Rosie said. ‘Charlie had some kind of hockey tournament called a round robin. She was going to go home, get herself cleaned up and then the pair of them were heading into town.’
‘Does Lily walk into town?’ Martha asked. The idea of Lily shuffling her way into town in one of her tight dresses, high heels and tall hairdos seemed improbable.
‘Goodness, no,’ Rosie said. ‘Lily? Walk anywhere? Not in a million years.’
‘George?’ asked Hannah, taking a bite of her sandwich.
‘Correct. Any excuse to get his MG out for a spin,’ Rosie said, reaching over and topping up her tea. She glanced out of the window and saw a rag swirl past. The wind was getting up, but at least it would stave off the rain.
‘So, Lily’s definitely not going to get married on New Year’s Eve?’ Dorothy asked. She and Angie had been massively disappointed when Rosie had told them the news.
‘Definitely,’ Rosie said. ‘She says there’s been too much happening for her to spend the time on organising the wedding of the decade.’
Hannah chuckled. ‘Too much time spent with Charlie more likely.’
‘Too many early mornings,’ Bel chipped in. ‘Maisie says it gets to nine o’clock on an evening and then all Lily does is yawn until they shoo her off to bed.’
‘George doesn’t mind the wedding being cancelled?’ Martha asked.
‘The word they’re using,’ Rosie said, deadpan, ‘is post-poned. But no, you know George – he’s so laid-back.’ Rosie had often wondered if George’s need to put a legal stamp on his union with Lily was to safeguard her. Not that he’d ever admit that to Lily, who would be outraged at the mere suggestion that she needed safeguarding. But, if that was the case, Rosie understood. If anything happened to George, Lily would inherit whatever he had, which was quite substantial.
As the women started chatting about what they had planned for their Saturday night, Rosie found her mind drifting off. Any talk of weddings always made her think of her own nuptials. Peter had proposed to her just before he’d gone off to be a hero behind enemy lines. A hero in all senses, in that the odds on him returning were not favourable. Like George, Peter knew that if he married Rosie and anything happened to him, everything he owned, including the house, would be hers.
Thinking of her brave husband made her stomach lurch, and it had been doing so more and more of late. The summer before last, she had received an envelope full of petals – pansies, the same as her wedding bouquet. Not long after that, Peter had surprised her, turning up out of the blue for an overnight stay. Every minute of their time together was still imprinted on her mind. Then, last Christmas Eve, Toby had brought her a letter – but since then, nothing. Not a whisper.
Rosie looked at Hannah, who was listening avidly to Dorothy as she held court, describing what she and Angie were going to wear for the Ritz that evening. If Hannah could be strong in the face of what she knew was happening in the concentration camp where her mother and father were being held, then so could she.
The women all started laughing at something outrageous Dorothy had said about Toby before she told them, holding her hands together in prayer, that there was a chance he might be able to make it back for Christmas Day.
Rosie felt an immediate swell of nerves.
With Toby there was always the possibility of news about Peter. Dorothy, thank goodness, understood and would always put Rosie out of her misery when she saw her after Toby’s visit. Each time, Dorothy shook her head as soon as she saw Rosie in the yard, and each time Rosie never knew whether to laugh or cry. Laugh with relief or cry because it meant she had to continue living in limbo, not knowing whether Peter was alive. Or not. She would never say the ‘d’ word – not even in her head.