Peggy had confided in Ron and the others about Doris’s plight the previous evening, and although Doris had upset each of them in the past, they seemed genuinely sorry that she’d received such a life-changing blow, and promised to be extra nice to her. But when Peggy had told them Doris would be looking for work, none of them believed anyone would dare take her on, and if they did, that she’d put everyone’s back up and last less than a day. Determined to prove them all wrong, Peggy fretted over the problem through the night.
Rising early, she quickly went through her usual morning routine and then telephoned her friend Claire, who was in charge of the typing pool at the Mayor’s office in the Town Hall. Claire was a war widow in her mid-forties and lived alone now her two children had been evacuated to Dorset. She and Peggy had known one another since they’d been in the same class at junior school, and although they didn’t get much chance of meeting up, when they did it was as if no time had passed at all.
‘Hello, Peggy,’ Claire said in delighted surprise. ‘My goodness, you’re an early bird. I’ve only just got into my office.’
Peggy sat on the hall chair and they settled in for a bit of a gossip, catching up on things as they hadn’t seen one another for some months.
‘It’s lovely to chat, Peg, but I really do have to get on,’ said Claire some minutes later. ‘The Mayor’s got an important council meeting later this morning.’
‘I won’t keep you then,’ said Peggy. ‘Only I was wondering if you had any secretarial jobs going?’
‘We always have vacancies with so many young ones joining up, but I thought you were happy at Solly’s factory?’
‘It’s not for me,’ Peggy said hurriedly. ‘I can’t type for toffee.’
‘Who is it, then? One of your chicks?’ Claire asked with warm amusement.
Peggy gripped the receiver. ‘Actually, it’s for my sister Doris,’ she confessed.
There was a long silence, and Peggy wondered if they’d been cut off, but as she was about to speak again, Claire came back on. ‘I’m sorry, Peggy. I’m afraid I can’t help.’
‘But I thought you said you had vacancies, and Doris is a fully qualified secretary – in fact she once worked as private secretary to the chairman of the board of a large bank in London.’ Peggy realised she was gabbling, and shut up.
‘I’m sure she’s most efficient,’ said Claire rather coolly, ‘but as much as I’d love to help you, Peggy, I simply can’t take your sister on.’
‘But why?’
Claire gave a short sigh. ‘There have been issues in the past between her and at least three women in my typing pool,’ she said reluctantly. ‘If I brought Doris in I’d have a mutiny on my hands.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said a perplexed Peggy. ‘How could Doris have upset women in a typing pool?’
‘They volunteer for the WVS at weekends and evenings,’ said Claire. ‘I’m so sorry, Peggy, but I simply can’t afford to rock the boat as we’re so short-staffed already.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought, is it?’
‘Doris is her own worst enemy, Peggy, and although there is some sympathy for her losing her home like that, she’s too stuck up and overbearing for most people, and, I’m sorry to say, not well liked.’
‘Thanks for being so frank with me,’ said Peggy sadly. ‘I’m sorry, but I had to ask. I don’t suppose you know of anywhere else she might find something?’
‘Not offhand, but if I do hear of anything, I’ll let you know.’
Peggy thanked her again, disconnected the call and then asked her one-time evacuee April, who was working on the telephone exchange, to put her through to the local bank where she knew the manager. That was no-go either and five similarly distressing calls later, Peggy realised that her sister’s snooty, bossy reputation had spiked any chance of her being taken on, even as an office junior typist at the billeting office – which Peggy suspected she’d turn down flat anyway. Doris might be willing to work and might have changed her way of thinking, but Peggy knew her well enough to realise she still had some pride.
Peggy lit a cigarette and sat deep in troubled thought for a while and then reluctantly asked April to put her through to the labour exchange. Her friend there probably wouldn’t take Doris on either after they’d fallen out over poor Ivy, who’d been made utterly miserable by Doris in Havelock Road – but she might know of an office job elsewhere in the town.
Peggy was proved right, for Betty Miller swiftly rejected any idea of Doris working at the labour exchange, but something had come in late last night which might suit her, as she would be working alone with the administrator of the factory estate. The fact that the man was a retired colonel was all to the good, for it would appeal to Doris’s sense of self-importance.
‘Now you’re just being catty,’ muttered Peggy.
‘Sorry, Peg, but she winds me up with her snooty ways,’ Betty replied. ‘I’ll arrange an appointment for her anyway. It’s the best I can offer her.’
Peggy thanked her, replaced the receiver and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s a start, I suppose, but, oh, Doris, you really don’t make life any easier, do you?’ she sighed.
The letters clattered into the wire basket and she hurried across the hall to see who’d written. It was quite a bonanza this morning, with three for Fran, an airmail for Sarah as well as two for Ivy, one for Doris, two for Cordelia, and one for Rita. And joy of joys, there were letters for her and Ron from Jim. She shoved hers into her apron pocket and took the rest into the kitchen where she dumped them on the table.
With cries of delight, Cordelia, Ivy, Sarah and Fran grabbed them and silence fell as they all became engrossed in news from their loved ones.
‘To be sure, that’s a fine collection this morning,’ said Ron, who was trying to clean Daisy’s face of jam and margarine and not having much success as the toddler was wriggling so much.
‘We’ve got two each from Jim,’ said Peggy. ‘But I’ll read mine later. I need to make sure Doris is up.’
‘Ach, leave her be, wee girl. After what you told us last night, she needs a lie-in, so she does.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Betty at the labour exchange is arranging a job interview with a Colonel White up at the factory estate at eleven this morning. If she doesn’t get a move on, she’ll be late, and that won’t go down too well with a military man, I’m sure.’
‘Oh aye?’ Ron’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’ve met the Colonel – good sort of man, so he is – helped poor old Stan out of a very sticky situation when Ethel got arrested for stealing from the Red Cross. Very fair he was with Stan.’
‘Then let’s hope he and Doris get on,’ said Peggy. ‘I’m rapidly running out of ideas of where to try next.’ She quickly left the kitchen and ran upstairs, meeting Rita slowly making her way down from the top floor on her crutches. ‘There’s a letter from your dad in the kitchen,’ she said, ‘but don’t rush. I don’t want you going headlong down these stairs.’
Rita grinned back at her and swung along the landing before bumping down the stairs on her bottom like a two-year-old. Peggy rolled her eyes and tutted before knocking on Doris’s door.
‘Good morning,’ said Doris who was already dressed for the day in a tweed skirt and plain white blouse. ‘It looks like it’s going to be nice weather for once,’ she added, glancing out of the window.
‘I spoke to my friend at the council offices, but she couldn’t help,’ said Peggy, cutting to the chase. ‘But Betty at the labour exchange is arranging an interview at eleven for you up at the factory estate.’
Doris sniffed with disdain. ‘I’m not working up there,’ she said firmly. ‘I might be in a bind, but I’m not that desperate.’
‘It’s in an office, not a factory,’ said Peggy evenly, and went on to explain about the Colonel needing a personal secretary to help him with all the paperwork involved in administering the estate and its security.
Doris broke into a smile. ‘Then I’d better polish my shoes and make sure I get there on time.’ She clasped Peggy’s hand. ‘Thank you for arranging it, Peggy.’
‘It was no bother,’ she fibbed quickly. ‘Breakfast is ready, by the way. It’ll do you no good going to an interview on an empty stomach.’ She hurried out of the bedroom and back downstairs. The time was racing by, and she wanted to make sure Sarah was given a proper send-off on her first day in her new job.
Sarah had finished reading her mother’s letter and Peggy noticed that she was looking a little pale. ‘You’re not nervous about this new job, are you?’ she asked.
Sarah shook her head and put on a brave smile. ‘It’s just Mother’s letters I’m finding hard to take,’ she admitted. ‘She keeps going on about my wedding to Philip and all the plans she has for my future as well as Jane’s – and to be frank, Aunt Peggy, it’s all getting a bit much. She seems to have completely lost sight of the fact that we’re grown up and might have other ideas.’
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘But it’s good that she’s looking on the bright side of things, don’t you think?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Jane and I are worried about her. She’s being too positive – too set on believing Pops and Philip will come through unscathed and ready to carry on as if nothing had happened. And if they don’t, there’s no telling how it will affect her.’
‘It will affect all of you,’ said Peggy, laying a gentle hand on her arm. ‘One way or another, it will be you who has to make a terrible sacrifice,’ she murmured beneath the other girls’ chatter.
‘Delaney understands why I’m doing it,’ Sarah replied quietly and firmly. ‘And my mind is made up, Aunt Peg.’ She tucked the letters into her handbag. ‘By the way,’ she said with a forced brightness, ‘Jane has an admirer, and I think she’s in love.’
‘Oh, how lovely,’ breathed Peggy. ‘Who is he? Where did they meet? What does he do?’
Sarah’s laugh was genuine. ‘You are an incorrigible romantic, Peggy. They met at work, so I have no idea what he does as Jane is so secretive about everything. His mother’s French and his father’s English, and his name is Jeremy Curtis. Jane’s being quite coy about him, so there’s no more I can tell you.’
She looked at the mantel clock and gathered up her things. ‘I’d better get going. Don’t want to be late on my first day.’
Peggy admired the sprigged cotton frock, white sandals, pale pink cardigan and matching ribbon in her fair hair. ‘You look lovely, dear,’ she said, giving her a hug. ‘Good luck.’
Ivy was the next to leave, shouldering her bag and gas-mask box and hitching up her oversized dungarees as she kissed Peggy and Cordelia goodbye and plodded out in her heavy boots. Rita rushed off after her on her crutches, eager to do some welding at the fire station, and Fran followed shortly afterwards, looking very purposeful and neat in her nurse’s uniform.
Peggy gave a happy sigh. Love was all around her, glowing in Fran, bright in Ivy’s eyes and warm in the convivial atmosphere of her kitchen. She poured a second cup of tea, the images of weddings drifting through her thoughts.
‘Well, I’ll be off to walk the dogs and exercise me ferrets,’ said Ron, stuffing his pipe into his mouth and his greasy old cap on his head. ‘And then Rosie’s taking me shopping.’
Peggy and Cordelia looked at him in disbelief. ‘Shopping? You?’ they chorused.
‘Aye. She seems to think I need smartening up.’
‘And she’d be right,’ said Cordelia, eyeing the old corduroy trousers held up by garden twine, and the battered poacher’s coat. ‘You look like a tramp most of the time.’
‘Ach, to be sure, Cordelia, I’m trying me best, but ’tis awful difficult when I’ve got animals to tend and things to do about the house,’ he said gloomily before turning to Peggy. ‘Would you be after knowing where me clothing coupons are, wee girl? I seem to have mislaid them.’
‘That’s hardly surprising as you’ve barely used any since the war started,’ said Peggy, hunting them out of the dresser drawer and handing them over. ‘There’s a whole year’s worth there, and don’t forget your wallet. Clothes don’t come cheap – even with coupons,’ she warned.
‘Aye,’ he said, his brows drooping. ‘I was afraid of that.’ He stomped off with Harvey at his heels, and Peggy was only just in time to slam the kitchen door before the cat followed him. ‘I don’t think Rosie would appreciate him having the cat in his pocket in the middle of Plummer’s,’ she said to Cordelia with a chuckle.
Cordelia laughed. ‘As long as he remembers to drop the ferrets off and get changed before he goes shopping, he should survive the day.’
‘It’s good to see you back to your old self,’ said Peggy warmly. ‘But I want you to promise not to overdo things whilst we’re all out.’
‘If it’s nice I’ll sit in the garden,’ Cordelia reassured her. ‘If not, I’ll read my library book or get on with my knitting by the fire.’
‘You could always telephone Bertie and ask him to come and keep you company,’ said Peggy as she rounded up Daisy and wrestled to get her coat and hat on.
‘He’s probably playing golf,’ Cordelia said dismissively. ‘And I’m quite happy with my own company.’ She reached out to Daisy, who immediately flew into her arms for a hug. ‘Be a good girl for Gan Gan,’ she said, ‘and you can tell me all about what you and Chloe have been up to when you come home.’
Daisy gave her a kiss and a hug and submitted quite calmly to having her bonnet tied under her chin.
‘Where on earth is Doris?’ said Peggy impatiently.
‘I’m here,’ said Doris, stepping into the kitchen looking very smart and efficient, her hair and make-up immaculate, her low-heeled shoes shining.
‘You look marvellous,’ said Peggy, reaching for her coat and gas-mask box. ‘I’m sorry I can’t hang about, but I wanted to take Daisy to the park for a bit before work.’
She carefully gave Doris a hug, fearful of crushing the crisp white blouse. ‘Good luck, Doris – although I’m sure you won’t need it. The Colonel sounds a very nice man.’ She wanted to tell her not to get snooty, or put on that silly false voice – but she was probably nervous enough already without being given unwanted advice.
With a wave of her hand, she left the kitchen, almost tripping over Queenie, who darted between her feet to get outside and jump up onto the back garden wall, where she sat mewing piteously for Ron and Harvey. Peggy could only hope they were too far away to hear her, for one answering bark from Harvey and she’d be off after them.
Doris had deliberately taken her time to come downstairs, aware that Peggy had told everyone of her straitened circumstances and reluctant to have to face them all. She loathed the thought of Ivy and Rita smirking at her misfortune, and of Ron making tactless remarks about her going for a job interview.
She realised she had a tough time ahead of her if she was to convince these people she really had turned over a new leaf, but despite all her good intentions, she still felt horribly awkward in their presence. They were united, having lived together for so long and shared so much, and if she was to become part of this household, then she’d have to put all her prejudices aside and really work at it.
She endured Cordelia’s withering glances and long silences as she ate some toast for breakfast and smoked a cigarette with her cup of tea whilst she read the letter from Anthony, which had been written before he’d learnt of his father’s death. Her son was such a dear boy, so caring and kind, and quite distraught about the situation she’d found herself in. But they’d had a long, reassuring chat on the telephone the previous night, and she’d gone to bed later and slept right through for the first time since the V-1 destroyed her home.
Now she was feeling horribly nervous, and wishing she’d been nicer to Cordelia in the past, for she could have done with some light conversation to take her mind off the coming interview. When it became clear that Cordelia had turned off her hearing aid and was fully engrossed in the newspaper crossword, Doris left her to it and went upstairs.
She eyed her reflection in the mirror, making sure she looked the part, and then sat down to practise her shorthand on some scrap paper. She was a bit rusty, for it had been years since she’d taken dictation, and she could only hope the Colonel wasn’t an impatient man like her previous boss, who’d marched back and forth as he dictated and then suddenly leant over her shoulder and jabbed at an outline demanding what it meant, which she’d found most unnerving.
When the time came for her to leave for the long walk to the factory estate, she put on her hat, powdered her nose and nodded to her reflection. Her eyes looked tired and there were lines around her mouth she could have sworn hadn’t been there a week ago, but she was as ready as she’d ever be, fully determined to make the very best of this new phase in her life.
She went downstairs and out of the front door. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and apart from the noise of the planes thundering overhead, it was a pleasant morning. She set off with purpose, determined to quell the butterflies in her stomach and do the best she could to secure this job, for it sounded ideal.
It felt rather strange to be walking up the High Street, for she usually drove everywhere, and by the time she’d crossed the railway bridge and was tackling the steep hill that led to the dairy and the factory estate, she was perspiring and out of breath. Knowing it wouldn’t do at all to appear flustered, she paused by the high wire fence surrounding the huge estate, checked her appearance again in her compact mirror and waited until she’d caught her breath.
Approaching the young man on guard duty, she explained who she was and why she’d come. She showed him her identity card and he opened the gate, giving her a cheeky wink, which made her both cross and rather flattered. She hadn’t been winked at since she was a girl, but he had a bit of a cheek doing it to someone who was probably old enough to be his mother.
She kept his instructions in her head as she walked through the vast collection of corrugated iron buildings which were buzzing and clanking with machinery, the sound of music coming from multiple wirelesses. She’d never been up here before, and had never planned to either, but it was interesting to see what Ivy and her evacuees had talked about when she’d been forced to take them in and put up with their common chatter.
That was all behind her now, though, she sternly reminded herself. Her future had been shaped by outside influences over which she’d had no control, and it was time to face this new beginning with fortitude and determination whilst hopefully remembering the lessons from her past.
She took a deep breath as she saw the Red Cross distribution centre ahead of her, and hoped she didn’t bump into Peggy’s sister-in-law, Pauline Reilly, who’d once been a volunteer for the WVS and was now working there. Doris didn’t have a high opinion of Pauline – she was inclined to go off into hysterics at the slightest thing – and suspected the feeling was mutual.
She paused at the bottom of the wooden flight of steps which led up to the offices, took a breath of the freshening wind for courage and went up before her nerve failed her. Holding onto her hat, she turned the knob on the door and stepped inside to be greeted by a whirlwind of paper and a tall, silver-haired man who was clearly at the end of his tether.
‘Shut the door,’ he barked, grabbing bits of paper and trying to keep them on the desk.
Doris quickly closed the door, grabbed the stray pieces of paper from around her feet and laid them on the untidy desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise the wind was quite that fierce.’
He gave a deep sigh and smoothed back his hair. ‘It’s always windier at the top of those steps for some reason, and although I’ve asked maintenance to do something about it, I’m still waiting.’ He regarded her with a rueful smile. ‘Sorry for shouting at you like that.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Doris, mollified by his smile and the educated tone of his voice. ‘It looks like you could do with some help,’ she added, pointing to the mess on the single desk and the numerous files and folders littering the tops of the metal cabinets.
‘I’m snowed under with paper and bumf,’ he said, ‘and if you’re Mrs Williams from the labour exchange, you’re very welcome.’
‘Indeed I am,’ she replied.
His smile lit up his face and his handshake was firm and warm. ‘Welcome to the madhouse, Mrs Williams. If you can sort this lot out, then you’ve got the job.’
Doris smiled. ‘Don’t you want to know if I can type or take shorthand?’
He waved away the suggestion. ‘Just get me out of this mess and we’ll sort all that out later,’ he said. ‘But where to start, that’s the crux of the thing.’
Doris took off her hat and hung it on the coat-stand along with her handbag. ‘Why don’t you go and find yourself a nice cup of tea, and leave me to it?’ she suggested hopefully. ‘I’m sure you could do with one.’
‘Indeed I could,’ he said. ‘But I have a meeting with the security staff in half an hour, so I’ll be gone for a while. Will you be all right on your own?’
‘I shall be fine,’ said Doris, thankful she’d be left to get on without him being in the way.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ he said, dithering in the doorway.
Doris nodded and purposefully held down the papers on the desk as he opened the door and slammed it behind him. She let out a breath, eyed the task ahead of her and eagerly began to trawl her way through everything so she had a proper sense of what went where and how it should be filed. If this was what the job entailed, then it would be a piece of cake – but she must remember to ask him on his return what salary she was to be paid, and the hours he expected her to do.
She worked through the morning, and by the time Colonel White returned with a thick white mug of tea, the office was as neat as a pin, the desk cleared, the folders correctly filed away, and the box-files neatly stowed on shelves in alphabetical order. She’d polished the desk, unearthed the typewriter from a dusty corner and found notebooks and pencils, which she’d sharpened, in the desk drawers. The small kitchenette which led off the main room gleamed from a good scrubbing with Vim, the kettle and hot-plate now free of grime.
‘My goodness, what a transformation,’ he said in admiration. ‘I can’t believe you’ve brought order to my chaos so quickly.’
Doris positively glowed from his praise, but as he was about to place the hot mug on her freshly polished desk, she whipped a beer mat she’d found in a drawer underneath it. ‘You have several letters that need answering today,’ she said, grabbing a notebook and pencil. ‘And I shall need a chair and a desk of my own.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he murmured, plonking down in the one chair. ‘I’ll ring through to supplies and get you those immediately.’ His smile was almost shy. ‘I’m still not used to being on Civvy Street. The army provided everything and there was always someone to do the fetching and carrying.’
‘How long is it since you left?’ Doris asked with genuine interest.
‘It’s been eighteen months since I retired, and I still can’t get used to it.’ He eyed her quizzically. ‘And what about you, Mrs Williams?’
‘I trained as a secretary in London more years ago than I care to remember, and then I got married and had my son. I’ve been doing voluntary work for the WVS, but I’m widowed now and need a paying job,’ she finished with a defiant note.
‘You must think I’m frightfully disorganised, Mrs Williams, and I do apologise for not dealing with such things earlier. I’ve been told I can pay you three guineas for a forty-hour week, with a bonus of one pound ten shillings if you’re willing to work on a Saturday morning.’
It was much more than Doris expected, and it was quite hard to hide her surprise and delight. ‘Thank you, Colonel. That would suit me very well, and I’m willing to work on Saturday if the need arises.’
‘Splendid,’ he replied, rubbing his hands together whilst admiring the neat office. ‘Well, I have to say you’ve got everything marvellously ship-shape in here. It’s a pleasure to have someone who knows what they’re doing. The last girl hadn’t a clue, and left me high and dry without even giving notice.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ she assured him.
He smiled at her and picked up one of the letters from the in-tray. ‘Let’s get on with the mail and see how your shorthand is.’
‘I need a chair,’ she reminded him gently.
‘Goodness me, of course you do,’ he said, jumping to his feet and reaching for the telephone. ‘Why don’t you sit here and enjoy that tea whilst I round up some suitable furniture for you?’
Doris sat in the deep leather chair and watched him make the call as she drank the rather stewed and cooling tea. Colonel White was a handsome man in his mid to late fifties, and beautifully turned out in a tweed suit and crisp shirt, with a gold watch and chain threaded through his matching waistcoat. His voice was educated and had a pleasing timbre, and his silver hair was thick and lustrous, enhancing the blue of his eyes. He clearly found it difficult to keep track of all his responsibilities, but with her talent for keeping things in order, she’d soon become indispensable to him.
Doris smothered a smile. She had the feeling she was going to enjoy working here.
Ron was feeling even grumpier than usual as he stood in the curtained-off cubicle of the menswear department in Plummer’s in his less than pristine underpants and socks. He’d exercised the dogs and the ferrets, managed to pop in to see Danuta at the Memorial for a mere five minutes, and then had to dash back to get changed into something smarter for the shopping trip – but he hadn’t thought to change the socks with the holes in them, or the underpants with sagging elastic, and realised he looked less than salubrious.
He glowered at his reflection in the long mirror as the elderly sales assistant measured him from head to toe and then got on his knees to measure his inside leg.
‘Which side do you dress, sir?’ the man asked, tape measure in hand, face aligned with the sagging elastic of Ron’s pants.
‘On the right,’ Ron growled. ‘Is all this really necessary?’
The elderly man got to his feet and noted down the measurements in a large book before replying. ‘The lady was most insistent, sir,’ he replied, mournfully eyeing the socks and underwear before shooting Ron an understanding smile. ‘And I’ve discovered over the years that it is always wise to follow a lady’s wishes if one is to have a quiet life.’
‘Aye, but ’tis a terrible burden, so it is.’
‘I think you’ll find, sir, that you will look and feel very much better once we have you suitably attired,’ the older man said before backing through the curtain.
Left to his own devices, Ron flexed his muscles, sucked in his stomach and eyed his reflection sourly, for although he was fit for a man of his age with well-toned muscles, he didn’t exactly cut a dashing figure at the moment. He was tempted to light his pipe, and then realised it probably wasn’t the thing to do in Plummer’s, which was Cliffehaven’s poshest shop.
Hitching up his baggy pants and eyeing the hole in his sock, he wondered how long he was supposed to hang about, and what Rosie was up to on the other side of the curtain. She’d sent him in here with a cheeky grin and made herself comfortable on a couch, plied with a free glass of sherry and a pile of magazines to keep her amused whilst he was going through all kinds of humiliation in his underwear. It seemed to him that Rosie’s idea of being wooed was going a bit far, and if the man didn’t come back soon, he’d get dressed and leave.
‘Here we are, sir,’ said the older man, laden with jackets, shirts and trousers. ‘I have brought a selection for you to try on.’ He slotted the hangers onto a rail, selected a pair of twill trousers and held them out. ‘The lady would like to see each outfit so she can make her choice,’ he murmured.
‘So I go through all this and don’t even have a say in the matter?’ growled Ron.
‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ he replied, before leaving again.
Ron eyed the twill trousers and pulled them on. They fitted very well and felt good against his legs, the turn-ups nestling perfectly over the tops of his shoes. He eyed the shirts and selected a dark green one which buttoned neatly over his chest and flat waist, the collar proving loose enough not to strangle him. Looking over the jackets, he discarded the bilious brown and green, as well as the blue, and plumped for the earthy tones of a fine tweed. Selecting a plain brown tie, he knotted it loosely and then turned to look at himself in the mirror.
‘Well, ’tis a fine figure of a man ye are,’ he breathed, turning this way and that in delight. ‘But what you need now is a hat to finish it off.’
‘Are you decent yet?’ asked Rosie from the other side of the curtain.
‘As decent as I’ll ever be,’ he replied, sweeping back the curtain to give her the full benefit of his splendour.
Rosie cocked her head and eyed him from head to foot. ‘You’ll need brown shoes to go with that, and some decent socks,’ she said. She looked at him, her blue eyes shining. ‘You certainly scrub up well, Ron,’ she murmured.
‘Aye, it all fits well enough,’ he said, trying to be modest. ‘But I’ll need a hat. The blue fedora won’t go with this.’
‘Talking of blue,’ said Rosie with a naughty gleam in her eyes. ‘I thought the blue jacket would go very well with the pale grey flannels and white shirt.’
‘Ach, I’m happy with this,’ he said.
‘You might be, but you need more than one set of smart clothes if you want me to be seen on your arm, Ronan Reilly.’ She gave him a rather firm nudge towards the changing room. ‘Now get a move on. I have to open the pub in just over an hour, and I thought we could have morning coffee at the Officers’ Club first.’
Ron swallowed a retort and grumpily returned to the changing room. Rosie was getting a bit above herself, but he supposed it was all in a good cause – and he did have to admit the clothes made him look and feel good. He emerged minutes later in the grey flannels, blue jacket and white shirt. ‘I look daft,’ he rumbled.
‘You look wonderful,’ sighed Rosie. ‘The blue makes your eyes even brighter and that jacket fits as if it’s been made for you.’ She eyed his black shoes. ‘They’ll do for now, but you’ll need some new ones before the year’s out,’ she declared.
‘There’s no need for all this, Rosie,’ he complained. ‘To be sure, we never go anywhere to warrant such finery, and I have a passable suit.’
‘Things are about to change,’ she said, a steely glint in her eyes. ‘And you’ll get a great deal of use out of all of it, I assure you.’
Ron swallowed and smiled nervously at her as the elderly salesman approached.
‘We’ll take this outfit, the brown tweed, twill trousers and green shirt,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll hunt out a couple of different ties – and he’ll need some brown shoes.’
‘And a tweed hat,’ said Ron, determined to get his way over something, and yet utterly defeated by the knowledge that this was going to cost him every clothing coupon he had as well as the contents of his wallet.
‘He will also need some dark socks and new underwear,’ said Rosie, shooting Ron a look he couldn’t interpret.
‘What was that all about?’ he asked as the man collected the clothes from the changing room and went off to pack them up.
Rosie giggled. ‘The curtains didn’t quite fit together and I saw you in all your glory,’ she spluttered.
Ron felt the blush heat his face and couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘I’m going to change back into my own stuff,’ he rumbled.
‘No, you’re not. You’ll wear what you’ve got on for the Officers’ Club and change later,’ she said firmly. To forestall any argument, she turned from him and bustled off to look at ties and underwear.
He stood in the middle of the menswear department and admired the way her hips moved beneath that pencil-slim skirt, and how good her legs looked in those high-heeled shoes. Rosie always looked marvellous and he could see heads turning to watch her progress through the department. If he was going to persuade her to marry him, then this expensive torture would be worth it.
He gave a chuckle before gathering up his old jacket, shirt and trousers and taking them to the counter to be wrapped up with the rest. If this was what Rosie wanted, then he would play along – and although he’d been morose about it, he’d found it fun, and privately admitted that he did look extremely smart in this get-up, even if it did make him feel as if he was one of those snobs who attended garden parties and lounged about on yachts.
Ron found a tweed hat he liked, and a pair of brogues the rich colour of conkers that fitted like a glove and would see him through at least a decade.
Rosie came back from her trawl of the department and met him at the counter armed with socks, handkerchiefs and ties. She cast an approving look over the hat and shoes, and then held up a broad strip of blue and white silk. ‘I thought a cravat would finish that outfit off perfectly,’ she said purposefully.
‘Over my dead body,’ he growled, eyeing the object with disgust.
‘But—’
‘I’ll not be wearing that,’ he said firmly, taking the cravat and putting it out of her reach. ‘Enough is enough, Rosie.’
She regarded him for a moment and then nodded. ‘I suppose it is a step too far,’ she murmured, ‘and as you’ve been so good about everything else, I’ll let it pass.’
Ron eyed the neatly written bill and had to quickly mask his horror. He reluctantly handed over the money and coupons.
Rosie hooked her arm through his as he took charge of the packages. ‘I know it was a bit steep,’ she murmured as they headed for the door, ‘but you’ll thank me in the end.’
Ron wasn’t at all sure about that, but as he held the door open for her and she sashayed onto the High Street pavement, he noticed their reflection in the heavily taped shop window and realised they made a handsome couple. Feeling slightly mollified, he escorted her along the High Street to the Officers’ Club, his mind working furiously on how much he had left in his wallet and what morning coffee would cost him.
Doris pulled on her blue overcoat and tethered her hat with a pin before gathering up the post and slipping it into her handbag. She stood for a moment admiring the office, which she’d reorganised with the help of the maintenance men who’d brought up the second desk and chair. The Colonel’s desk was now under the single window, and her own smaller desk had been set up against the wall opposite. Everything was neat and tidy, and she’d elicited a firm promise from the men that they would come tomorrow to build a covered porch over the door so that the wind didn’t rush straight in every time the door was opened. Should the men go back on their promise, then they’d soon discover that Doris Williams was no pushover, and that her demands were to be met promptly.
She looked at her watch, checking she had time to catch the evening post, and then used the key the Colonel had given her to lock up. Stepping outside, she was surprised to discover how light and bright it was, and how swiftly the day had flown. With a lightness of heart she hadn’t felt for years, she ran down the wooden staircase and hurried towards the gate.
‘How’d it go, then?’
Startled, Doris looked down at Ivy, who’d appeared from nowhere, it seemed, and was walking beside her. ‘Very well, thank you,’ she replied, her smile a little stiff.
‘That’s good then,’ said Ivy. ‘The Colonel’s nice, ain’t ’e? And not a bad looker for a bloke ’is age.’
‘I can’t say that I noticed,’ Doris fibbed.
Ivy gave her a light nudge with her elbow. ‘You could be in there if yer play yer cards right.’
Doris bristled and only just remembered she had to be nice to this common girl if her standing at Beach View was to improve. ‘I have no idea what you mean by that,’ she said coolly. ‘But I certainly found him to be a most pleasant man to work for.’
Ivy grinned. ‘We ’ad bets on you wouldn’t get a job at all,’ she said tactlessly, ‘but I’m glad you proved us wrong, so good on yer. I knows things ain’t been easy for yer lately, but ’aving something proper to do will perk you up no end.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ said Doris, trying not to show how astonished she was by the girl’s bare-faced cheek and over-familiarity.
‘This is nice, ain’t it?’ Ivy carried on with a devilish glint in her eye. ‘Who’d’a thought we’d be walking ’ome from work together, eh? If me shifts work out like this, we could be doing it every day, all friendly like. What you say?’
‘I might have to come in early or leave late,’ said Doris hurriedly. ‘The Colonel doesn’t keep regular hours.’
Ivy chuckled, hitched up her dungarees and ran off to join some of the other girls who were pouring through the gate.
Doris slowed her pace to keep well behind them. It was bad enough having to once again share a house with her one-time evacuee, but she wasn’t about to encourage any sort of intimacy. After all, Ivy had left Havelock Road for Beach View without a by-your-leave and caused her endless trouble with the billeting people because of it. And if she thought she could now take liberties, then she was sorely mistaken.
Doris reached the gate and watched Ivy and the other girls race each other down the hill, their heavy boots clattering on the pavement, their shrieks of laughter echoing through the streets. She took a steadying breath and slowly headed after them. Their short exchange had somewhat blunted her spirits, but the thought that she would back in the neat, quiet office again tomorrow brought back the spring in her step, and she couldn’t wait to tell Peggy all about her busy and fulfilling day.