THE KITCHEN AT Beach View Boarding House was a haven of warmth and comfort as the rain pelted against the windows and the wind howled in from the sea. The blackout curtains had been drawn despite the early hour, a rabbit stew was slowly cooking in the range oven, and there was a soft glow from the fire and the single low-watt ceiling light.
Peggy Reilly finished ironing the last pillowcase and added it to the pile of crisp laundry on the table. She placed the iron to one side of the range hotplates, folded up the towel she’d been using on the table as an ironing board, and ran her fingers through her freshly washed, and still damp, curly dark hair. Her smile was tender as she watched her father-in-law, Ron, amusing baby Daisy with her toys. He was a scruffy old Irish rogue who went his own sweet way, and he and his lurcher, Harvey, were the cause of most of her troubles, but she loved him, and knew that this house of women relied upon him.
Despite the homeliness of this little scene Peggy was rather distracted, for her thoughts were scattered, and she was filled with a restless, nervous energy. Her husband Jim was coming home on leave tomorrow, and although her best dress had been carefully pressed, her shoes polished and Daisy’s outfit was folded and ready, she was certain there had to be something she’d forgotten to do in preparing for it.
The house had been in chaos following Kitty Pargeter’s wedding to Roger Makepeace, and she’d spent the last six days dashing about trying to clean and tidy and make everything perfect. Not that it was easy in a house this size, for it was getting shabbier by the day and needed a thorough renovation – which was neither affordable nor practical in these times of strict rationing and seemingly endless raids by the Luftwaffe. All the frenetic activity had kept her too busy to think how she might feel if Jim’s leave was cancelled at the last moment again, but now she’d begun to dare to hope that he really would be coming home.
Peggy gathered up the pile of freshly ironed laundry and carried it upstairs to the linen cupboard before checking that Ron had cleaned the bath properly, and not left damp towels all over the floor, or whisker shavings in the basin. Satisfied that everything was tidy and clean, she inspected each of the bedrooms, and then paused a moment to look out of the top-floor front window which had the only view of the sea. It was as grey as the sky, the murky waves whipped into white, crashing foam as the rain came down like stair rods in the wind that howled across the Channel.
Beach View had been Peggy’s home all her life, for it had belonged to her parents, and she and Jim had taken over the business once they’d retired to a bungalow further along the coast. They were gone now, and she still missed them, but at least they’d been spared yet another awful war, and had lived long enough to see most of their grandchildren come along.
As the threat of war had become reality, the once thriving boarding-house business had died, and with only the two nurses, Suzy and Fran, and the elderly widow, Cordelia Finch, as lodgers, Peggy had been at her wits’ end to know how to keep the place going. But with every dark cloud comes a silver lining, and with the help of government grants to supplement the low rents, her empty rooms had been filled by the billeting office. The past three years had been interesting, to say the least, with all the comings and goings, and she still got the occasional letter or card from those who’d stayed for a while before moving on.
Beach View Boarding House stood three streets up the hill from the seafront in one of the many terraces of Victorian houses that were such a feature of Cliffehaven. Four storeys tall, it provided five bedrooms on the top two floors, another in the hall, and two more in the basement which Ron filled with all his clutter and shared with his dog, Harvey, and his two ferrets. Apart from the kitchen and basement scullery, there was a dining room which was rarely used now, and Peggy and Jim had scrimped and saved to have a bathroom put in upstairs. It was a luxury that had been worth every penny, even though strict rationing meant the days of soaking in deep hot water were gone.
In the long narrow back garden Ron’s vegetable patch had taken over most of the space between the house and the ugly Anderson shelter. The outside lav had been rebuilt after the bomb blast from two streets up had flattened everything, and although the new lav and cistern were very posh, Peggy still felt guilty every time she saw it, for Ron had liberated it from the rubble of a bombed-out hotel. He’d assured her that it was all legal and above board, but Peggy knew him too well and still had her doubts.
There was also a shed which housed more of Ron’s clutter and provided a hiding place for him when she needed things done about the house, and a chicken coop for the hens who managed regularly to lay enough eggs for everyone, despite the racket of air-raid sirens and squadrons of planes roaring overhead.
A large store of wood was piled next to the water butt and almost empty concrete coal bunker; a washing line was strung from a post nailed into the flint of the back-garden wall up to the house, and the two bicycles were sheltered from the elements by a sheet of tarpaulin that Ron had fixed beneath the kitchen window.
Peggy gave a wistful sigh as she thought about her lovely car which was now under wraps for the duration in a friend’s garage, its tyreless wheels propped up on bricks. She did miss it, and now she had Daisy she couldn’t even use her bike to get about.
She turned away from the dreary view and headed back downstairs. On reaching the kitchen she saw Ron was still entertaining Daisy with her wooden bricks, and Cordelia was engrossed in the afternoon wireless programme while she tried to make sense of her tangle of knitting. Harvey was sprawled in front of the range fire, snoring happily, his ears twitching only slightly every time Daisy knocked down the pile of bricks with a gurgle of delight.
With a sense of deep contentment, Peggy lit a Park Drive cigarette and sat down at the table, glad for a moment’s respite before everyone came home for tea. She let her gaze drift to the mantelpiece over the range where she kept the framed photographs of her loved ones amidst the clutter of ration books, discarded lists and old bills.
There was Jim, so handsome in his REME uniform as he smiled back at her; and her two young sons, arm in arm in the back garden, mischief in their cheeky grins. Her spirits faltered somewhat as she looked at the photograph of her eldest daughter, Anne, who stood beside her husband, Wing Commander Martin Black, with their little Rose Margaret in her arms. Jim had been stationed God knew where up north, and Anne, the baby and Peggy’s two boys were down in Somerset for the duration. She felt their absence keenly, for Rose and the boys were growing up without her, Jim’s many letters couldn’t compensate for the loss of his warm and loving company, and she ached to have them all home and to be a proper family again.
Refusing to dwell on these thoughts, she smoked her cigarette and admired the lovely studio shot of little Daisy who was now just two months away from her first birthday, and then moved on to the one of her nephew Anthony and his fiancée, Suzy, who’d been her lodger since before the war. Their wedding would be next – and as Peggy loved weddings, the thought cheered her up no end.
She grinned at the snapshot of Cissy, her second daughter, who had just turned twenty-one and looked very trim and glamorous in her WRAF uniform. Peggy was still smiling as she looked at the photograph of her lodgers. It had been taken in the back garden with her rather battered Box Brownie early this summer when Kitty Pargeter was still living here, and it gladdened her heart to see Cordelia and the six girls so clearly happy to be together.
Kitty’s bright smile told of her courageous determination to live life to the full after having lost part of her leg in a plane crash. Suzy was the quintessential English rose and her fellow nurse, Fran, the fiery-haired Irish imp. Rita was dark-haired and, as usual, wearing trousers and that moth-eaten WWI flying jacket, and the sisters, Jane and Sarah, were fair and pretty. They had escaped Malaya just before the fall of Singapore, and were Cordelia Finch’s great-nieces.
Peggy fondly regarded Cordelia, who’d given up on her tangled knitting and was dozing before the fire. Cordelia was in her late seventies and this cold, wet weather played havoc with her arthritis, but she remained cheerful and bright and keenly interested in what all the girls got up to. She had lived at Beach View for many years now and had become very dear to all of them, but her increasing deafness and her rather cavalier attitude to using her hearing aid caused a great many moments of hilarity as well as frustration – and it sometimes meant that conversations took very strange turns indeed.
As for Harvey! She eyed the large brindled lurcher with affection, despite the fact he was a ruddy nuisance at times. His latest escapade had been to impregnate a pedigree whippet whose owner had dumped the resulting puppy at Beach View. The pup, Monty, was now happily ensconced at the Anchor pub with the landlady, Rosie Braithwaite, and although Peggy was relieved not to have him under her feet all day, she still rather missed him.
Peggy stubbed out her cigarette as Harvey opened his eyes and yawned luxuriously. He was always blotting his copybook, but he was a faithful dog, and an intelligent one too: he’d become quite famous in the town for sniffing out people trapped in their bombed buildings. He and Ron were as scruffy and wayward as each other, but Peggy knew that the house simply wouldn’t be the same without either of them.
Harvey pricked up his ears as a gust of cold wind blew in from the hall and the front door slammed.
Peggy headed for the kettle as Suzy and Fran shed their sodden nursing cloaks and shoes. ‘You look soaked through,’ she said fretfully. ‘Go and dry off, or you’ll catch your deaths.’
‘To be sure, Aunt Peggy, ’tis filthy weather out there,’ Fran told her, as she unpinned the soggy white cap and shook out her damp tumble of russet curls.
‘The wind makes it worse,’ said Suzy as she undid the button on her starched collar and stripped off her apron. ‘It drives the rain right through you.’
‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ said Peggy. ‘Go and change.’
As the girls ran up the stairs, Daisy decided she’d had enough of her bricks and began to clamber over the recumbent Harvey, who lay and suffered in silence. Peggy placed the kettle on the hob and, carefully stepping over the scattered bricks, rescued the dog from Daisy’s clutching fingers. ‘Can you tidy up these toys before someone breaks their neck tripping over them, Ron?’
Cordelia woke from her doze. ‘What boys?’ she asked in confusion. ‘Are Bob and Charlie here?’ She looked expectantly round the kitchen.
Peggy experienced a sudden pang of sadness. ‘No, Cordelia,’ she said clearly. ‘Daisy’s toys are in the way, that’s all.’
Cordelia eyed her over her half-moon spectacles and frowned. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t shout, dear,’ she said with a cluck of annoyance. ‘I’m not deaf, you know.’
Ron dumped the bricks and toys into the playpen before turning to her with a mischievous smile that made his blue eyes sparkle beneath the wayward brows. ‘To be sure, Cordelia, you have a fine way of ignoring the truth,’ he said.
Cordelia tried to be cross with him and failed. She could never resist his smile. ‘Get away with you, you old scallywag,’ she retorted. ‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you.’
Peggy listened to this exchange while she settled Daisy in her high chair and made the tea. They had both hit the nail on the head, for Cordelia wouldn’t accept the level of her deafness and, when it suited him, Ron had only a distant and rather vague acquaintance with the truth. But they enjoyed their little spats, and there was no harm done.
Cordelia struggled out of the armchair and began to lay the table for tea. ‘Is everyone home tonight?’
Peggy placed the teapot and cups on the table. ‘Everyone but Rita,’ she replied. ‘She’s going to the pictures with her nice young man, and they’re planning to have a fish supper afterwards.’
Cordelia’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘I do like Matthew,’ she said. ‘And it’s delightful to see our sweet little Rita start to blossom, don’t you think?’
Peggy nodded. Rita had met Pilot Officer Matthew Champion at Kitty’s wedding, and by the look of it, it had been love at first sight for the pair of them. He was a lovely lad, just into his twenties, and as dedicated to the RAF as her son-in-law Martin. But Matthew flew one of the large bombers that spent night after terrible night on raids over Europe, and she knew that Rita suffered dreadfully every time he went up.
Ron sank into a chair and lit his pipe. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Peg,’ he said once he’d worked up a cloud of smoke, ‘and it’ll do no one any good. The heavy toll on the RAF is the same for our boys out there with the Atlantic convoys and those fighting in Egypt. We have to stay positive, or we’ll never win this war.’
Peggy knew he was right, but it didn’t make her fret any less, for Martin still flew his Spitfire on those raids into Europe. She determinedly pushed away the gloomy thoughts and put the potatoes and sprouts on to boil. Jim would be home tomorrow and she must concentrate on that, and be grateful that he was still in England, and would probably not be sent to fight anywhere. He was, after all, in his mid-forties and had done his bit in the last war.
As Ron and Cordelia carried on with their non-too-serious bickering, she checked the stew and ladled out a small portion for Daisy. Setting it to one side so it could cool, her skittering thoughts turned to the knotty problem of how to tell Jim about her close brush with death during the bombing raid earlier in the year, which had led to an early miscarriage and a hysterectomy. The telegram informing him of her operation had clearly not been delivered, for he hadn’t mentioned it at all – and as the censors read everything she’d felt uncomfortable about revealing such intimate details in what should have been a very private letter.
She had almost decided on the best way to do it, but she was afraid he’d be upset that she hadn’t told him earlier, and had battled through the ordeal without him by her side. She could only hope that her obvious good health and a meal of his favourite sausages, mashed potato and onion gravy would prove he really had nothing to worry about.
Suzy and Fran came back into the kitchen having changed into knitted sweaters, comfortable slacks and slippers. While Suzy made a fuss of Harvey and chatted to Cordelia, Fran carefully placed her vanity case and two towels on an empty chair. ‘I’ll set your hair after tea, Auntie Peg,’ she offered. ‘And then I’ll do your nails and give you a face pack.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure I want that green goo on my face again,’ said Peggy.
‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ said Fran, tossing her curls back. ‘But at least it will give you a chance to sit down and take a breather while I do your hair. To be sure,’ she continued in her Irish lilt, ‘you’ve fair worn us all out with your dashing around these past few days.’
‘Aye, she’s right about that,’ said Ron as he puffed contentedly on his pipe. ‘You haven’t sat still since the wedding, and if you’re not careful you’ll be worn to a frazzle by the time that son of mine gets home.’
‘A bit of hard work never killed anyone,’ Peggy retorted, ‘and I don’t want him coming home and thinking I’ve let things go.’
‘Ach, Peggy girl, he’ll not be worrying his head about spit and polish,’ said Ron. ‘He’ll have had enough of that in the army, so he will.’ His greying brows lowered as he suddenly noticed Fran’s vanity case and the towels. ‘I hope you’re not contemplating attacking me with your scissors again,’ he rumbled.
Peggy, Suzy and Fran giggled, remembering the last time Fran had brought her hairdressing things into the kitchen, when she had forced him to sit still while she cut his hair and trimmed his flyaway brows.
Fran shot him an impish grin. ‘Ach, Uncle Ron, you’re quite safe. ’Tis Peggy’s turn today.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he muttered.
Jane came up the cellar steps, shivering with cold and thoroughly drenched. ‘Is autumn always like this in England, Auntie Peg?’ she asked wanly.
‘I’m afraid it often is,’ Peggy replied as she helped her off with her far-from-adequate raincoat. ‘But you’ll soon get used to it.’
Jane smoothed her hands over her fair hair and flicked the long, thick, soggy plait over her shoulder. ‘And to think I used to moan about the heat and humidity in Malaya,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘What I wouldn’t do for a bit of sunshine now.’
Peggy watched her leave the kitchen to go and get changed. Jane worked at the dairy with the shire horses in the early mornings, and then did the books for the local uniform-factory owner each afternoon. She was a sweet, rather naïve girl and much less sophisticated than her older sister Sarah. Both girls were still homesick, even after all these months, and there was the added worry over their father and Sarah’s fiancé, neither of whom had been heard of since the fall of Singapore.
Rita came clumping up the cellar steps, the rain slicking off her heavy-duty trousers and the old flying jacket that she wore over her fire-service uniform. ‘Whew! It’s filthy out there,’ she said as she pulled off the sheepskin-lined jacket and plumped down on a chair to untie her bootlaces. ‘At least this weather will keep the planes grounded, so there’s no danger of a raid or any fires to tackle.’ She ruffled her fingers through her mop of dark curls and grinned at everyone.
‘I expect everyone at the fire station will be glad to have a night off,’ Suzy remarked, as she put the dinner plates to warm in the smaller of the two ovens.
‘Oh, we are,’ Rita agreed cheerfully as she grabbed one of Fran’s clean towels and roughly dried her hair. ‘And I wouldn’t mind betting the boys up at Cliffe aerodrome are feeling just the same.’
Fran snatched back the towel. ‘This was for Peggy,’ she said. ‘Now you’ve got it all wet.’
‘Keep your hair on, Fran,’ replied Rita. ‘I’ll bring down another one after I’ve got changed.’ She shot Fran an impish grin, gave Cordelia a kiss on the cheek and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
‘My goodness,’ sighed Cordelia with a little shrug of pleasure. ‘How that girl has changed since she met Matthew.’
‘It just goes to show what love can do,’ said Suzy happily.
Fran gave a dramatic groan. ‘Honest to God, Suzy, I’ll be glad when you’re married. All this starry-eyed nonsense is getting me down.’
Suzy laughed. ‘Jealousy will get you nowhere, Fran. You wait. It’ll happen to you one day.’
‘Hmph.’ Fran folded her arms and tried hard to appear at ease with the fact she’d only recently fallen foul of a lying toerag of a married American whom she’d adored. ‘With all the hours I have to do at the hospital, chance would be a fine thing – not that I’m at all bothered.’
‘When you’ve all quite finished discussing your love lives,’ grumbled Ron, ‘perhaps we could have our tea. Me stomach’s sticking to me backbone, so it is.’
‘I’ll dish up when Sarah gets in,’ said Peggy. ‘She’ll need warming up after her long walk back from the Cliffe estate.’
Peggy sat down and spooned the cooled stew into Daisy’s mouth. She was rather worried about Sarah, if the truth was told. It was a long, exposed walk across the hills from the estate where she worked in the office for the Women’s Timber Corps – and it was pitch black out there.
Ten minutes later she realised she couldn’t keep everyone waiting any longer and began to dish up. She had just sat down when she heard the front door slam and hurrying footsteps across the hall. Looking up as the girl entered the kitchen, she realised immediately that Sarah had not walked home, for her WTC uniform was only lightly speckled with rain. Curiosity sparked, but she made no mention of her appearance, for no doubt Sarah would explain sooner or later.
‘You’re very late,’ Peggy said. ‘I was getting worried about you.’
‘I’m so sorry, Auntie Peg,’ Sarah said rather breathlessly as she took off her heavy overcoat. ‘We had an audit, and it went on much longer than we expected. I would have telephoned, but Captain Hammond insisted upon giving me a lift home, and promised I wouldn’t be more than a few minutes later than usual.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantel as if to confirm this.
At the mention of this mysterious Captain Hammond, Peggy’s natural curiosity was on full alert. ‘Well, it is only twenty minutes over your usual time,’ she said as she served the stew. ‘It was very kind of the Captain to bring you home,’ she continued with studied care. ‘You should have brought him in and introduced him.’
‘He had to get back to his duties,’ Sarah replied.
Fran giggled. ‘Perhaps she’s keeping him all to herself, Auntie Peg.’
Sarah reddened. ‘It’s not like that at all,’ she said firmly. ‘He just gave me a lift home when he realised how far I had to walk in this appalling weather.’
‘I just bet he did,’ retorted Fran sourly. ‘The Yanks are nothing but charming and helpful when they’re after something.’
Sarah carefully put down her knife and fork. ‘Fran, don’t be like that. You had a bad experience with that Chuck, I know, but not all Americans are out for what they can get. Captain Hammond is an ordinary, very nice man who kindly offered me a lift – so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make more of it than it really is.’
Fran was about to reply when Peggy cut in sharply. ‘Sarah’s right, Fran. You’re trying to make something out of nothing. And you seem to forget that Sarah’s engaged to Philip. She isn’t interested in other men.’
Fran reddened at the mild rebuke. ‘I was just teasing,’ she muttered.
As the meal progressed and Harvey was surreptitiously fed morsels of the rabbits he’d helped to catch, the atmosphere lightened and conversation flowed round the table. Rita rushed in looking very pretty in a pink sweater and black slacks, her dark eyes bright with anticipation of her evening out. Having kissed Peggy and Cordelia goodbye, she pulled on a raincoat and headscarf and rushed out again to meet Matthew in the Anchor for a drink before the pictures.
Once the dishes were cleared away and washed, Peggy bathed Daisy and settled her in her cot with her favourite teddy. She then made another pot of rather weak tea while Jane read the newspaper, Fran opened her vanity case, Sarah did some mending and Cordelia tackled her knitting with help and advice from Suzy.
Ron warily eyed the vanity case, scissors and brushes. ‘Well, I’ll be off to walk Harvey and then see Rosie,’ he said as he dragged on the long waterproof poacher’s coat over his second-best trousers, reasonably new shirt and knitted sweater. ‘This is no place for man nor beast if you’re about to turn it into a beauty parlour.’
Harvey eagerly wagged his tail and followed closely behind Ron’s heels as he went down the concrete steps to the cellar and out into the teeming rain.
The women shared a knowing smile as the back door slammed, and then Fran became businesslike. ‘I’ll have to dampen your hair again, Auntie Peg,’ she said as she held the brush under the tap. ‘The setting lotion doesn’t work if it’s dry.’
Peggy sat still and finished her cigarette as Fran placed a towel over her shoulders, ran the wet brush through her hair and then combed in the lotion. This was all too reminiscent of the last time she’d expected Jim home, and she wasn’t at all sure if she should be tempting fate again.
‘I really don’t think I’ll have the face pack this time,’ she said once Fran had finished pinning all the curlers in and started painting her nails a soft pink.
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ declared Cordelia as she looked up from her ruined knitting. ‘It’s time you let Fran spoil you.’ She peered at Peggy over her glasses, her blue eyes stern. ‘You do want to look your best for Jim, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, ‘but . . .’
‘But nothing,’ said Cordelia airily. ‘You can’t possibly welcome him home looking so frazzled. He’ll think we aren’t taking care of you.’
Peggy rather took objection to being described as frazzled, but let it pass. ‘I felt a right fool sitting here with all that green goo on my face and cucumber stuck over my eyes. So, if you don’t mind, Fran, I’d really rather leave it this time.’
‘There’s no cucumber today, Auntie Peg, but cotton wool soaked in cold water will do the same trick. Please reconsider,’ Fran said softly. ‘You’ve been running yourself ragged ever since the wedding, and the face pack will help to make your skin look and feel fresher and lighten the dark shadows under your eyes.’
Peggy was a bit miffed at all this criticism, even though it had been meant in the kindest way. Yet, as she hadn’t had time to look in a mirror lately, she couldn’t really defend herself, and it was easier to give in than to keep resisting. ‘Oh, all right,’ she sighed as Fran finished her nails.
She closed her eyes and was actually soothed by the cool paste Fran was slathering over her face. She could feel it begin to harden already, and if it was anything like the last time, it would take ages to wash off.
‘Are you sure this will work, Fran?’ she asked, managing not to move her lips too much.
‘Absolutely,’ she replied. ‘Just don’t talk or move a muscle or you’ll spoil the effect. Now, I’m putting these soaked pads of cotton wool over your eyes, so just relax and think sweet thoughts.’
Peggy sat there feeling completely foolish as Fran bustled round her. Taking care not to ruin her nail polish, she lit a cigarette and tried to relax, but she could hear Cordelia tittering and the girls giggling. It was clear that everyone else thought the whole rigmarole was much funnier than she did.
Time dragged and she was getting restless. ‘How long am I expected to sit like this?’ she asked as Fran took the cigarette stub away from her.
‘Ach, I’m thinking it won’t be long,’ giggled Fran.
Peggy was highly suspicious of what they were all up to while she was unable to see them. She could hear rustling and more giggles and the shuffle of footsteps around her. ‘Don’t you dare leave me like this,’ she hissed through tight lips.
‘Me darlin’ girl, as if I would.’
‘Jim!’ Peggy was on her feet and across the deserted kitchen into his arms before she could take another breath. She clung to him as she kissed his mouth, his face and his neck. ‘Oh, Jim,’ she breathed against his cheek. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here.’
He kept his arms round her as he leant back and burst out laughing. ‘What the divil have you got on your face, Peggy girl?’
She stiffened with horror as she remembered the face pack, and then tried frantically to smear it away.
Jim was still laughing as he plucked the cotton wool from her cemented cheeks. ‘Is this green stuff edible?’ he teased. ‘Am I supposed to kiss you, or eat you?’
Peggy was mortified, but his mirth was catching and she was soon laughing along with him. ‘You weren’t supposed to see me like this,’ she finally spluttered. ‘What must you think?’
He stilled her hands as she reached to remove the curlers, and pulled her to his heart, devotion in his eyes. ‘I don’t care about the curlers and the cement on your face. I’m just glad to be home with my beautiful girl again.’
She melted into his embrace as he kissed her thoroughly. She was in the arms of the man she loved, and at peace. It didn’t matter that all her plans for his homecoming were in ruins – or that she looked a fright – for finally, finally, he was here.