Helen looked at the beautiful red roses that Marie-Anne had carefully arranged and put in a vase for her. They had arrived this morning with a note saying From your not-so-secret Admirer, followed by a solitary kiss. She didn’t have to be a super-sleuth to work out they were from Matthew; he might as well have just signed his name. But that was Matthew for you – not exactly subtle, certainly not when it came to how he felt about her. Helen wondered where on earth he’d managed to get roses during these times. There were barely any florists in the town still trading. Losing herself in her thoughts for a moment, her mind wandered to John. How she wished the flowers had been from him – that he was her secret admirer.
Those musings were followed by less palatable ones. Had he bought Claire flowers? Had he arranged to take her out on a romantic date? Helen pushed back the green-eyed monster. Would it be easier to accept John’s relationship with another woman if she liked Dr Eris? Helen laughed to herself. Who was she kidding? Of course it wouldn’t.
Picking up the vase of roses, she moved them from her desk to the top of the filing cabinet. Hearing a quick rap on the frosted glass of her office door, she looked up to see Marie-Anne standing in the doorway. Helen no longer bothered to shut her door as lately there seemed to be a constant stream of people in and out: constant queries from the yard manager, as well as just about every head of department.
‘They really are lovely,’ Marie-Anne said, her eyes fixed on the roses. She had just been gossiping with Dahlia, Matthew’s Swedish secretary, about them on the phone and the fact that Dahlia had been asked to make a reservation for two at the Grand on behalf of her boss. Marie-Anne thought he was pushing his luck. Matthew might have most women swooning at his feet, but her boss was not one of them.
Helen looked at Marie-Anne, and thought she seemed a little flushed.
‘Please don’t tell me there’s someone else wanting to see me,’ Helen said wearily. This morning she’d already had Jimmy the head riveter in, followed by Billy the platers’ foreman, then Rosie. The two LCTs being built in the dry docks were of a far simpler design and much easier to produce than your average cargo vessel, but for some reason there seemed to be a litany of queries and concerns, the latest being whether the length of the hull would put too much stress on the suspension system. She’d wanted to scream at them that it wasn’t their job to question the design, just to get the ships down the ways in time. All the same, she respected their knowledge and expertise and had promised to talk to Basil.
‘There’s someone here to see Dorothy,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘Lieutenant Tobias Mitchell.’
Helen’s face showed her surprise. Gloria had told her that Toby was being relocated down south and the chances of Dorothy seeing her chap were pretty hit and miss, at least until the summer.
‘Send him in,’ Helen said, suddenly worried. Suddenly thinking of Peter. Of Rosie. Please don’t let it be bad news. She knew Toby had brought messages and updates about Peter’s welfare in the past – most recently on Christmas Day. She felt a terrible sense of trepidation.
‘Miss Crawford!’ Toby came bounding into the room, causing Winston the cat to shoot out of his basket and scamper out of the office. Toby had his cap under his arm as he strode towards her with his arm outstretched and a smile on his face.
Thank God. Relief flooded through Helen’s body. This was not a death call.
Helen stood up to shake hands.
Looking at Toby as he reached over and took her hand, his presence filling the room, she could see why Marie-Anne was a little flushed. She’d forgotten how handsome Dorothy’s fella was. Even more so in his smart officer’s uniform.
‘Lovely to see you, Lieutenant Mitchell.’
‘Toby, please,’ he said, shaking Helen’s hand with gusto. ‘My apologies for intruding like this. I know how busy the yard must be at the moment. Only, I’ve managed to snatch a few hours before I have to catch my connection back to London.’ Toby’s white lie about his destination was necessary as he had to keep the location of the base at RAF Tempsford top secret. The entirety of the airfield had been camouflaged so that it was not even visible from the air.
‘Of course,’ Helen said, looking up at the clock. It had just gone midday. ‘You want to spend it with Dorothy?’
Toby smiled and Helen could see that he was used to getting his own way. He had a very boyish charm about him.
She laughed. ‘How can I refuse? And on today of all days. I’ll get Marie-Anne to go and fetch her.’
‘No, no,’ Toby insisted. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve all got more important things to do. I’ll go myself. If you can just point me in the right direction.’
As Toby strode across the yard, not for the first time he felt in awe of the woman who had captured his heart. The place was a minefield of metal and machinery. There were huge piles of chains and girders stacked randomly about the yard. Two cranes were trundling over to the dry docks, one behind the other, each with mammoth-sized metal plates swinging from their jaws. He smiled when he saw V FOR VICTORY scrawled on the side.
A group of young lads who looked like they were playing catch with a red-hot rivet stopped and stared at him as he made his way across to the nearest half-built landing craft. A young boy who looked barely out of short pants waved to him as though he were a movie star. The awestruck lad was holding a thick chunk of chalk, which Toby knew was for marking numbers onto the metal plates to show where they were to go on the ship’s hull. He had learnt much about the process of building a ship since he had started to court Dorothy.
As he approached the nearest dry basin, he raised his vision to the top decking and immediately spotted the women welders, their array of colourful headscarves and the sparkling fountains they were creating with their welds setting them apart from the flat-capped men armed with rivet guns working nearby. The women all had their masked heads down in concentration and had not seen him approach.
Slowing as he reached the scaffolding that had been erected around the body of the LCT, he wondered how he was going to catch their attention; there was the most deafening percussion of sounds all around him – drilling, hammering, the clashing and clanging of metal. He was just about to climb up a ladder leaning somewhat precariously against the staging when he saw Martha, whom he recognised because of her muscular physique, tapping Dorothy on the shoulder. He saw the shower of molten metal die as Dorothy turned to look up at Martha, pushing up her mask as she did so. Her head turned slowly as she looked at where her workmate was pointing. He saw her mouth open and knew that if it weren’t for the sounds of the shipyard, he would be hearing her shriek with excitement. It was another reason he loved Dorothy – she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her. She might well be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met, but what attracted him to her even more than her sensational looks was her couldn’t-care-less attitude.
He watched with a big smile on his face as Dorothy grabbed her haversack and made her way along a wooden platform, then down the ladder that Toby had been preparing to go up.
When she got to the bottom, she flung her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed her back, which was difficult as he was smiling so much. Before turning to leave, he looked up at the women, who were staring down at them – all grinning from ear to ear. He focused on Rosie and mouthed, ‘Peter’s fine,’ putting his thumb up to make sure she’d understood. He saw relief spread across her face. Toby hoped more than anything that Peter would make it back. Rosie was a strong woman – she had to be, given the life she’d led, but seeing her reaction on Christmas Day on hearing that Peter was alive, he would not like to be a witness to her reaction should he ever have to bring her different news.
Pushing away those thoughts, Toby grabbed Dorothy’s hand and they both hurried back across the yard and through the main gates.
‘What are you doing here?’ Dorothy asked as soon as they were a hundred yards or so away from the yard and could just about hear themselves speak.
‘How could I not come,’ he laughed. ‘It’s St Valentine’s Day. And it is therefore imperative that I see my girl.’
Dorothy laughed. She felt like dancing on the spot she was so happy. Even if it was in her steel-toecapped boots.
‘I’m guessing,’ she said, ‘that you’re either on your way up to Scotland or heading back to wherever it is you’re based down south?’
Toby nodded. He had explained to Dorothy that he couldn’t tell her much about where he was or what it was he did and she had accepted that, although she’d told him that she wanted to know everything once the war was over.
‘How long have we got?’ she asked as she pulled out her compact mirror from her haversack and started dabbing away dirt from her forehead. She was always left with a dirty, sweaty line where her helmet had been.
‘Only a couple of hours, I’m afraid. I have to be on the fourteen-thirty train.’ He pulled a grim face.
‘You checked it was all right with Helen?’
‘Of course,’ Toby said, stopping to pull out a starched white cloth handkerchief from his trouser pocket and gently wiping away the smudges of soot and smears of dirt on her face. Her very beautiful face.
‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ he said, giving up wiping her face clean and kissing her instead.
They stood, bodies pressed together, Toby in his immaculate khaki uniform, his fair hair Brylcreemed back into submission, Dorothy in her denim overalls ingrained with dirt and sporting a myriad of pinholes from wayward welds.
When they finally broke away, Toby untied Dorothy’s headscarf, allowing her long dark brown hair to fall free.
Dorothy took her scarf back, twirled it around in the air, before grabbing Toby’s hand and marching up the embankment.
‘This is sooo exciting!’ she said. ‘Where we going?’ She laughed. ‘I hope it’s nowhere posh, because I doubt very much they will let me through the door looking like this.’
Toby looked at the woman he had decided was the one for him. She was full of contradictions. She could be so feminine and yet she spent her days doing a man’s job; she was a bit of a snob, yet had chosen a job that many looked down their noses at.
‘I thought I’d take you to the salubrious eatery in the seaside resort of Roker famous for its panoramic views out to the North Sea,’ he said.
Dorothy squealed with excitement. It didn’t matter that Roker was no longer a seaside resort, its beaches now filled with landmines and cordoned off with barbed wire, nor that the views out to sea were often obscured by anti-blast tape and lashing rain running down the windows; she had wanted to go to the Bungalow Café with Toby for ages. It was where Tommy and Polly had gone when they had first started dating and she had thought the place incredibly romantic ever since.
‘So, tell me all your news,’ Toby asked as they tucked into a plate of ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. He was sure the old woman behind the counter had given them extra ham, which he put down to the uniform.
‘Mmm,’ Dorothy said. ‘These are lovely.’ She savoured the big mouthful she had just taken. ‘You have saved me from a packed lunch I was not particularly looking forward to consuming today.’
Toby chuckled as he poured their tea. ‘I’m guessing it was your turn to put up your “bait”?’ He’d learnt that packed lunches in these parts were called ‘bait’, which he found odd as where he came from it was something you used to catch fish.
‘It was,’ Dorothy said, ‘and today was not one of my finest in the culinary department.’ She took a sip of her tea.
‘I don’t know,’ Toby said with a mischievous look in his eye, ‘what will you do when you’re married and you have to cook your dear, hard-working husband a decent meal every night?’
Dorothy almost choked on her sandwich. ‘Well, for starters, it’s if I get married.’
She returned his mischievous look.
‘I might not be the marrying kind.’
She took another bite of her sandwich and watched Toby’s reaction. He immediately laughed. ‘Oh, I think you are the marrying kind.’
‘Well, if I am,’ Dorothy continued, ‘and I do get married, it’s quite simple. I will not be slaving over the oven and making my dear, hard-working husband a decent meal. First of all, because I will employ a cook, and secondly, because I think my ability to cook a meal – never mind a decent one – is nigh-on non-existent.’
Toby laughed. He wished he could spend the entire day – and night – with Dorothy. She made him laugh. Made him feel young and carefree. She made him forget about this abominable war, and the decisions he was having to make every day – decisions that could as easily save a man’s life as send him to an early grave.
As they ate their sandwiches and drank a second pot of tea, they chatted away, Dorothy telling him all about the landing craft they were building and how different they were from the merchant ships they had worked on until now. ‘Rosie has become even more of a slave-driver than she was already,’ she said. ‘Honestly, you’d think we were in a competition to build it in record time.’ Toby guessed why Rosie was so invested in the speed in which they were being produced. Peter.
‘And how’s Gloria? And Jack?’ he asked tentatively. He knew there was something about Jack’s sudden return Dorothy wasn’t telling him. The very fact she wasn’t telling him meant it must be serious.
‘They’re good,’ Dorothy said, taking another sip of tea. Dorothy had told him during the weekly phone calls he made to Mrs Kwiatkowski’s that Jack had got his old job back at Crown’s and that, amazingly, Hope had taken to him as though he had never been away. Dorothy had put it down partly to Hope having heard Jack’s voice over the phone these past six months, but mainly to the little girl sensing how happy her mammy was to have Jack about.
‘They’re not getting any hassle from anyone?’ Toby probed. It was obvious their affair would be viewed as scandalous, especially as Jack was married to Miriam, the daughter of the revered Mr Havelock – a man Dorothy didn’t seem to rate at all, judging by the way she talked about him. Neither did she rate Miriam, for that matter, although he could understand why she didn’t like Jack’s estranged wife. She sounded a real she-devil – she had conned Jack into marriage and, unsurprisingly, their life together had not been a happy one.
‘No, no hassle. Not yet,’ Dorothy said, pushing her plate away and wiping her mouth with the paper serviette. ‘But that’s probably because they’re keeping a low profile. At the moment hardly anyone knows. I think they’re trying to keep it really low-key until Miriam files for divorce.’
‘She’s not already done so?’ Toby asked.
Dorothy shook her head. ‘She’s still in Scotland.’
Toby smiled at the old woman for the bill.
‘And the twins, are they well?’ Toby thought what Bel and Joe had done was wonderful. There weren’t many couples these days who would adopt one child, never mind twins.
‘Very well,’ said Dorothy. ‘Very lovable and very loud.’
Toby chuckled.
‘And I don’t think I need to ask if Angie and Quentin are still head over heels?’
‘Not need at all,’ Dorothy said. ‘Angie tries to play it down but isn’t doing a very good job.’
Toby smiled. It had been obvious to everyone – apart from Angie – that she and Quentin were made for each other, even if they were from opposite ends of the social spectrum.
‘And any more news about Bobby?’ Toby knew about his head injury. Reading in between the lines, he wondered if there was more to it.
‘Not anything new,’ Dorothy said. ‘He’s still being “observed”.’
Toby nodded.
‘And has Gloria thought any more about telling them – about Jack?’ He couldn’t believe it when Dorothy had told him that they didn’t know their mother had divorced their father and they now had a little sister.
‘She’s made up her mind. She’s going to tell them. I said I’d help her compose a letter, but she said it’s something she has to do herself.’
‘Well, at least they’re stationed on the same ship, so they’ll get the news together,’ Toby said. He looked at Dorothy and took hold of her hand. ‘You know how proud I am of you, don’t you?’ he asked. He meant it. Wholeheartedly. He had met a lot of women of Dorothy’s background and none of them had the grit, or physical strength, to do the work she did. He had roared with laughter, though, when she’d confessed to him that she had only applied for the job because she’d fallen for some good-looking riveter who worked at Thompson’s. But that was Dorothy for you. It was why he loved her. Was why he was here today – to tell her just that.
‘Here you are.’ The old woman handed the bill to Toby, who immediately put a few notes on the little plate, leaving a very generous tip. The woman smiled her thanks, pushed the money into the pocket of her pinny and turned to Dorothy.
‘Yer work on the ships, pet?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Dorothy nodded. ‘I’m a welder at Thompson’s.’
The old woman patted her on the back and handed her a parcel wrapped up with string. ‘Take this for your squad. Hettie and I – ’ she cocked her head over at the counter ‘ – think yer deeing a grand job. Keep it up. Deeing yer town ’n yer country proud.’
Dorothy was taken aback. She suddenly felt tears spring to her eyes. This was turning into such a special day.
‘Oh, thank you, that’s lovely,’ she said, taking the cake. ‘That’s really kind.’
‘Least we can dee, pet.’ The old woman stuffed her hands in her pocket and gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Now get yourself back to work, and you – ’ she looked at Toby ‘ – go ’n win that war.’
Toby stood up and tipped his cap.
‘I’ll certainly give it my damnedest,’ he said, his face showing his resolution.
As they walked back to the yard, Toby smiled to himself. There was he thinking the generous ham sandwiches had been down to his uniform. He looked at Dorothy – it was her uniform that had inspired.
‘So, when am I going to meet your parents?’ he asked.
Dorothy let out a slightly bitter laugh. ‘It depends whether they can find the time. They only squeeze me in on a Sunday to ease their conscience and make sure I’m still in the land of the living.’
‘Well, why don’t I try and get a Sunday off sometime soon and I can come with you?’ Toby looked at Dorothy. She always got tetchy when talking about her family. ‘You know, we’ve been courting for more than a year – I think it’s time I met your family, don’t you?’ Ideally, he would have liked to have met Dorothy’s father, but Dorothy had made it quite clear she had no idea where he was.
‘I do want you to meet my mum and Frank,’ Dorothy said.
‘Why do I sense a “but”?’ Toby asked.
Dorothy shook her head and put a smile on her face. ‘There is no “but”. It’ll be interesting – you meeting them.’ In her mind, it was simply a necessity – something to be endured in order for her to be asked for her hand in marriage.
‘Come here.’ Toby pulled Dorothy towards him.
‘Careful, I don’t want to squash my cake.’
‘I thought she said the cake was for your squad.’
Dorothy laughed. ‘I might give them a sliver.’
Toby kissed her passionately.
‘Dor …’ Toby looked at Dorothy, his voice serious, his eyes looking into hers, wanting to read her reaction – to see if she too felt the same. ‘I wanted to tell you something. You know … with it being Valentine’s Day, and all that.’
Dorothy looked at him. ‘Yes?’
‘I want you to know …’ He hesitated. ‘I want you to know that … well … that I love you.’
A smile slowly spread across Dorothy’s face.
She laughed.
‘I thought you’d never tell me.’
She kissed him.
‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘because I would have hated this relationship to have been one-sided.’
Toby looked at Dorothy.
‘Is that your way of telling me that you love me too?’
Dorothy kissed him.
‘It is.’
Toby felt a rush of relief. He hadn’t been entirely sure if Dorothy really wanted to get serious. They had snatched whatever time they could together since their first date at Polly and Tommy’s wedding, and they had kissed and cuddled, although that was all. He knew Dorothy wasn’t seeing anyone else, but still, he wasn’t totally sure if she wanted to take their courtship to the next step. Sometimes he thought he could read her like a book, other times not. Now he knew. She loved him. She’d told him, even if it was in a roundabout way.
Later on that evening, Helen and Matthew walked into the dining room at the Grand. She had agreed to go with Matthew on condition he did not see it as any kind of a date, despite it being Valentine’s Day; it was simply because she was hungry and hadn’t been anywhere nice for ages. Matthew had been pleased as punch, joking that he would take what crumbs he could. Helen had only agreed to dine at the Grand, and had not asked Matthew to change the venue, because she knew her mother wouldn’t be there.
Dr Parker, meanwhile, had only booked the Grand because he believed that there was no way Helen and Matthew would be there, knowing that Helen would not risk going anywhere her mother might be. He had no idea that Miriam was still in Scotland.
When they all spotted each other, it was hard to tell whose face fell the most – Claire’s, Matthew’s, John’s or Helen’s. It would probably be classed as a draw. On seeing each other in the bar before they were seated by the maître d’, they all forced expressions of pleasant surprise, saying what a coincidence it was. John asked about Miriam and was a little puzzled to hear that she was still over the border, silently cursing himself for not considering the possibility that she might not be back. The last thing he’d wanted this evening was to see Helen and Matthew together. It rankled him. He knew it shouldn’t, that he and Helen were merely friends, but it did.
Helen fought hard not to show how she felt about Claire. She did not want her to gain the satisfaction of knowing how jealous Helen was – or that she didn’t like her, especially as it was inevitable that their paths would eventually cross at the asylum while she was visiting her grandmother, when she would need to keep the doctor on their side.
They made polite small talk, chatting about the last time they had all seen each other at Artie’s christening and what a lovely ceremony it was, and how festive and cosy it had all been in the Tatham Arms. Claire felt her hackles rise again, recalling how John and Helen had seemed so cosy chatting by the bar that day, and how she had desperately wanted to ask what it was they had been talking about, but knew it would not have been appropriate.
During their chit-chat, Matthew tried his hardest to give the impression that he and Helen were an item. He gently touched Helen’s elbow and stood close enough to her to intimate that they were physically close and at ease with each other. Miriam had told him a while ago that Dr Parker had had his eye on Helen, and although the doctor had clearly chosen one of his own, Matthew was still concerned he might feel he’d made a mistake and change his mind. He needed him to believe that Helen was taken; that it was too late even if he did have a change of heart. He was helped enormously by Dr Eris, who brought up the lovely photograph of them both published in the Echo.
Dr Parker might have been convinced that Matthew and Helen were an item, but Dr Eris wasn’t taken in. She was a psychologist after all. She made her living out of reading people – and she had read Matthew well, had sussed him out from first meeting him at the christening. The man wanted Helen, but Helen didn’t want Matthew.
Dr Eris knew exactly what Helen wanted and she was going to make damn sure she never got it.
When the maître d’ finally showed them to their reservations, both couples tried not to show just how relieved they were to be sitting at tables far enough apart that they could not overhear each other’s conversations – conversations which, it had to be said, were quite bland in comparison to the thoughts swirling around in their heads.