IT WAS A cold, brisk but sunny Sunday afternoon and Peggy was pushing the pram along the seafront. Ron was spending some time with Rosie at the Anchor, the girls were all out, and Cordelia had been collected by her elderly admirer to be taken to the golf club for afternoon tea, so she had the rest of the day to herself.
She hadn’t lingered at the tragic sight of the great piles of rubble that had once been the Grand Hotel and two boarding houses, but had determinedly pressed on until she reached the end of the promenade. Too many people had lost their lives already, and each bomb site and every coil of barbed wire were terrible reminders of the sacrifices they were all having to make.
Havelock Road was quiet, but several people she knew were tending the vegetable patches in the park and she returned their waves as she passed. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was just after four, so she wasn’t too late. Wheeling the pram over the gravel drive, she rapped the knocker, and was delighted when Ivy opened the door.
‘Hello, dear. I hope I haven’t missed anything?’ Peggy enquired.
Ivy grinned and helped her get the pram over the doorstep and into the hall. ‘Nah, Mary ain’t started playing yet, but she’ll be ever so glad to see you,’ she confided in a stage whisper. ‘All the old trouts are circling, and I think she’s feeling a bit trapped.’
‘That’s why I decided to come,’ Peggy replied. She checked on Daisy who was peacefully sleeping, hung her coat on the rack and went into the sitting room. ‘Hello, Doris,’ she said blithely. ‘I hope you don’t mind me gatecrashing your tea party.’
Doris didn’t look at all pleased, but surrounded by her snooty cronies, she didn’t dare make a scene. ‘Of course not, Margaret,’ she said stiffly. ‘Do sit down. Mary is about to play for us.’
Peggy shot Mary a smile of encouragement. ‘How lovely of her to give up her Sunday afternoon to entertain us all,’ she remarked with more than a touch of irony – for she knew Mary had had no real choice in the matter.
She crossed the room and gave the girl a hug. ‘I am looking forward to this, dear,’ she said quietly. ‘And don’t mind them, just play for yourself.’
‘Thanks, Peggy. I’m so glad you’re here,’ she whispered back.
‘Then I’m very glad I came.’ Peggy ignored her sister’s glare and sat down with only the barest acknowledgement to the other women. She poured herself a cup of tea, took a sandwich and settled back into the cushions, knowing she was behaving badly, but not caring a hoot. Lady C and her clique of smug, overdressed rich women wouldn’t have given her the time of day usually, and as she disliked every last one of them, she didn’t see why she should pretend she did.
‘Now that everyone is quite settled,’ said Doris with a furious glare at Peggy, ‘I would like to introduce Mary Jones, who has very kindly offered to perform for us this afternoon. Her repertoire is quite outstanding, and I am hoping you will agree that she would be an excellent choice to help with our fundraising.’
As Doris waffled on, Peggy noticed that Ivy was standing in a corner looking very uncomfortable in the presence of so many daunting women, so beckoned her over to share her large chair. As they were both skinny, it wouldn’t be too much of a squash. She poured the girl a cup of tea and, with a conspiratorial wink, offered her a piece of shortbread.
‘Mary will begin with a sonata by Beethoven,’ Doris announced grandly before sitting down and giving the girl a nod.
Peggy was swept away in the exquisite sounds of the Moonlight Sonata, and when the final note faded and was met with overly polite, muted applause, she shot to her feet and clapped enthusiastically. ‘Well done, oh very well done, Mary. That was wonderful.’
There was a stony silence as the other women looked at her in cold disapproval.
Mary must have sensed the atmosphere, for she immediately began to play the first movement of Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto. This was followed by a selection of tunes from the most popular musicals of stage and screen, which had everyone discreetly tapping their well-shod feet.
Peggy was entranced, for she hadn’t realised just how talented the girl was, and this private little recital was a far cry from the sing-song at the Anchor. As she stood once again to cheer and clap alongside Ivy, she wondered if Doris knew about Mary’s successful evenings at the pub. She very much doubted it, for if she did, she probably wouldn’t have even considered asking the girl to play for her horrid friends.
‘That was wonderful, dear,’ said Peggy enthusiastically. ‘Now, let me go and make a fresh pot of tea while you have something to eat. I’m sure you must be thirsty after all that playing.’
‘Ivy will make the tea,’ said Doris.
‘I’m perfectly capable of making a pot of tea,’ retorted Peggy. ‘Ivy is not your servant.’
She picked up the pot and went into the kitchen, noting that the other women were now rather patronisingly praising Mary and badgering her with questions. Putting the kettle on the hob, she decided to go back in while it boiled. The girl would need support, and Ivy was too overawed by everyone to be of much help.
The ghastly afternoon dragged on, and Peggy stuck it out until all the women had left. Thankfully, Daisy had slept through it all, but now she was beginning to whinge and whine, and doubtless needed her nappy changing before they went home.
Peggy returned from the cloakroom with a clean and gurgling Daisy to find Ivy busy clearing away the china and napkins and Mary looking distinctly uncomfortable as Doris bossily talked at her. ‘What’s the matter, Mary?’ she asked.
‘Mrs Williams has organised another recital for next Saturday, but I have already made other arrangements.’
Peggy caught the desperate look in the girl’s eyes and realised at once that she didn’t want to make any mention of the Anchor. ‘Then you’ll have to cancel it, Doris,’ she stated firmly. ‘You can’t expect the girl to fall in with your plans if you don’t have the courtesy to ask her first if she wants to do it – or indeed is available to do it.’
‘Mary has agreed to perform a series of recitals to raise funds for the homeless,’ said Doris.
‘Actually, Mrs Williams, I said I would do one.’ Mary was blushing furiously and clearly trying to remain calm and polite.
‘It simply isn’t good enough,’ snapped Doris. ‘You’ll have to change your plans.’
Peggy had heard enough. ‘Why should she? Mary has her own life to lead, and it’s not up to you to tell her what she can and can’t do.’
‘This is none of your business, Margaret, and I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ retorted Peggy, ‘but Mary isn’t doing your concert next Saturday, and that’s an end to it.’
The steely gaze settled on Mary. ‘What is it that’s so important you have to let everyone down, after all the trouble I’ve taken to introduce you to the cream of Cliffehaven society?’
‘If my shift at the factory allows, I’ve promised to play for a friend,’ Mary replied. She glanced at Peggy, licked her lips and took a deep breath. ‘I play at the Anchor at the weekends,’ she said in a rush.
Doris went quite white and had to sit down. ‘The Anchor? But it’s a ghastly dive, full of drunks and girls who are no better than they should be. As for the landlady . . .’ She gave a sniff. ‘Well, the least said about her the better. A girl from your background has no business consorting with such people.’
Mary refused to be cowed. ‘Rosie Braithwaite is an extremely nice person, and we have become friends,’ she said stoutly.
‘Good grief,’ gasped Doris. ‘This is worse than I could have imagined.’
‘I agree that my parents might not have approved,’ Mary admitted, ‘but it’s fun, and I feel I’m doing my bit by entertaining the servicemen and women who go there. Not only do they enjoy a good sing-song round the piano, but Rosie is paying me. I earned nearly eight pounds in wages and tips this weekend,’ she finished in a rush.
‘Blimey, you earned that much?’ breathed Ivy. ‘Bloody hell, I wish I’d learnt to play the old joanna – I’d jack in me factory job and be down there every night.’
‘Don’t be so vulgar,’ snapped Doris. ‘Go and do the washing-up.’
Ivy must have felt emboldened by Peggy’s presence, for she folded her arms and glared at Doris. ‘I ain’t your skivvy, and you’re paid to ’ave me and Mary ’ere, so I reckon you can do yer own washing-up.’
Doris went puce. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ she rasped.
‘You asked for it,’ said Peggy mildly.
‘I might have known you’d side with her. But then I should have expected it, as you share your home with riff-raff.’
Peggy could have slapped her for that, but she wasn’t about to get into a row with Doris. It was late, she had a long walk home, and the sniping was nothing new. ‘Come on girls, get your coats. I think we could all do with a bit of fresh air, and I’d appreciate your company for part of the way on my walk home.’
‘Sorry, Peggy, but I’ve made arrangements to meet someone, and I’m already in danger of being late,’ said a flustered Ivy.
‘It wouldn’t be a certain Australian, would it?’ Mary was grinning as they turned away from a fuming Doris and headed into the hall.
Ivy giggled. ‘Well you did say he weren’t yours, and he’s ever so nice. We’re going to the flicks and then ’aving chips and spam fritters after.’
Peggy strapped Daisy into her pram and gave her the bottle of orange juice from her bag to see her through until they got home. ‘Come on then, girls, it’s dark out there, and my lot will be waiting for their tea. Would you like to join us for tea, Mary?’
‘I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘I’ll just tell—’
‘No need,’ said Doris stiffly from the doorway. ‘I would prefer to dine alone this evening anyway. I can feel one of my heads coming on.’
‘Take an aspirin,’ advised Peggy. ‘And while you’re at it, try a good dose of humility. It might cure what really ails you.’
Ivy and Mary smothered their giggles and hurried to help Peggy with the pram. Once it was over the threshold and the door shut behind them, Ivy said goodbye and rushed off to keep her date with Smoky Ashton.
‘I’m sorry you got caught up in that,’ said Peggy as she and Mary strolled along the drive. ‘I’m not usually so catty, but my sister is impossible at times and needs to be firmly squashed.’
‘I think you’re very brave to stand up to her like that,’ replied Mary.
‘It took years of practice, believe me,’ muttered Peggy as she paused by the gateway to pull up her coat collar and tug on her gloves. ‘You need to stay firm, Mary, because if you let her, she’ll have you doing concerts every weekend. And you won’t earn a penny, let alone any gratitude from that bunch of snobs.’
‘I don’t mind doing the occasional one,’ said Mary, ‘after all, it would be for a good cause. But I really enjoy playing at the pub, and I do like Rosie, she’s not only funny, but has a sweet nature.’ She wrapped her scarf a little more firmly round her neck and dug her hands in her coat pockets as they left the shelter of Doris’s front garden and were met by the blustery wind. ‘I bumped into her yesterday, and she asked me upstairs for a cup of tea. We got on like a house on fire, and it was as if we’d known each other for years.’
‘Good, I’m glad. Rosie’s one of the loveliest people I know, but because she runs a pub she finds it difficult to make women friends, and she can get a bit lonely up there during closing time when Ron can’t be with her.’
‘Yes, she did say that, and told me I could always pop in if I was passing.’
The buffeting wind made it difficult to walk very fast, but Peggy was glad to have the opportunity of really getting to know this sweet girl. ‘So,’ she said, ‘how have you spent the weekend?’
‘I practised for the recital Saturday morning and then spent the rest of the day exploring Cliffehaven, and finding my way around. Rosie gave me a rough map, so it was quite easy to locate the factory estate, and I even spotted Ron and Stan sitting outside a shed in the large allotment up by the dairy.’
‘They’re up there most days, especially Stan. He’s made his shed into quite a little home from home, and there’s always a cup of tea going should you want one. He’s a nice man, is Stan – the sort you can confide in and who gives good advice.’
‘They were deep in conversation and didn’t see me,’ said Mary. ‘So I just carried on walking and found myself up on the hills. You get a lovely view of Cliffehaven up there, don’t you?’
Peggy smiled as they strolled along Havelock Road. ‘You certainly do – not that I get much chance of going up there any more now I’ve got Daisy. But getting back to Stan and Ron: they were probably plotting some sort of mischief,’ she chuckled. ‘They’ve been friends since they were barely out of short trousers, and they haven’t got any better behaved over the years.’
Mary smiled back. ‘That’s nice, isn’t it – to have a loyal friend of many years who knows you inside out and who you can trust with just about anything. I’ve got a friend like that called Pat Logan. She and I have known each other since our mothers left us with Mrs Boniface to mind while they were working.’
‘You must miss her,’ murmured Peggy.
‘Yes, I do rather,’ she replied with a sigh. ‘And what with my friend Jack enlisting in the army, it’s quite hard to get used to how things are.’
Peggy heard the wistfulness and understood how homesick the girl must be so far from home, friends, family and Jack, who was clearly important to her. ‘What about your parents? It must have been very hard for all of you to have to part.’
Mary tucked her chin into her scarf. ‘They were killed in a tip-and-run. The rectory and church took a direct hit, so I only have Mr and Mrs Boniface and Jack, who’s their son, now.’
Peggy’s heart went out to her, and she stopped walking to take her hand and give it a squeeze. ‘Oh, my dear, how awful for you. I’m so sorry.’
Mary’s smile was a little wan. ‘Yes, it was awful, but I’m trying very hard to come to terms with their loss. Being here helps of course, because there are no memories at every corner, but now and again it hits me that I’ll never see them again, and that’s when I miss Auntie Barbara and Uncle Joseph, the Bonifaces. They were very good to me.’
Peggy glanced across at her. ‘And Jack?’
‘I miss him quite dreadfully,’ she replied with a fetching blush.
‘Why don’t you tell me about Jack and your parents and where you lived?’ coaxed Peggy as she began to walk on towards the end of Havelock Road. ‘It often helps to talk about these things rather than bottle them up, you know.’
Mary described the Sussex village, the rectory and church, and the warmth of the Boniface family, whose son she hoped to marry one day. Peggy wasn’t at all sure she liked the sound of Mary’s mother, for she came across as rather a cold fish, but she could hear the undoubted love in Mary’s voice as she spoke of her gentle father, so her home life hadn’t been all bad.
They reached the end of the road and hurried across the High Street into the relative shelter of the buildings in Camden Road. ‘So what brought you all the way here to Cliffehaven?’ Peggy asked as they slowly walked past the shuttered shops.
‘It’s a bit complicated,’ Mary replied hesitantly, ‘and not really a very nice story.’
Peggy liked a story, nice or not, and she was deeply intrigued by this quiet, unassuming young girl who clearly had far more to her than she’d first thought. ‘I’m sure it’s no worse than many others I’ve heard over the years,’ she said comfortingly. ‘And I can assure you it will go no further if you decide to trust me with it.’ As Mary hesitated, she prompted her. ‘I’m guessing that Cyril Fielding has an important part to play in this story of yours.’
Mary stopped and stared at her. ‘Yes, but how did you know?’
Peggy smiled. ‘Stan told me you were asking after him and thought I might know him. I don’t, I’m sorry, Mary,’ she said hastily. ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell at all.’
‘Oh.’ Mary bent her head.
They began walking again, even slower now they were out of the wind. ‘Why were you looking for him, dear? Is he a family friend, or a relative of some kind?’
Mary took a deep breath, and as she told Peggy about her father’s diaries and the document she’d found between the pages, Peggy realised what a terrible burden she’d been carrying. It was indeed an appalling set of circumstances for any girl to find herself involved in, especially one who seemed to have such a sweet, trusting nature.
‘I came to Cliffehaven because my mother was living here when I was born eighteen years ago,’ said Mary as they finally reached the end of Camden Road. ‘I have no idea who she was, but she left here shortly afterwards, leaving me behind with my father.’
Peggy tightened her lips at the thought of any woman doing that to her newborn baby. What a cow. But the father wasn’t much better by the sound of it, and if she ever got to meet either of them, she’d give them what for and no mistake. ‘And your father was . . .?’
‘Cyril Fielding.’
Peggy thought about this as they crossed the road and were virtually pushed by the wind up the hill towards the twitten that ran behind the backs of the terraced houses. Hurrying into the shelter of the tall buildings, they stopped to get their breath. ‘Do you know anything about him which might help to track him down?’
‘He was a travelling salesman who had a large area to cover, and was successful enough to put generous amounts into the church collection box. He attended Daddy’s services fairly regularly for a while, and enjoyed his sermons, so he must have been Church of England, and according to Daddy’s diary he was married, with young children.’
Peggy thought he sounded a complete and utter rotter. She sighed as they reached the back gate to Beach View. ‘It doesn’t help very much, does it? If only Stan could remember where he’d heard that name before, it would make things so much easier.’
‘He’s heard the name?’ asked Mary sharply.
‘Please don’t get your hopes up, Mary,’ she said quickly. ‘He said he thought he’d heard the name before, but he could have been mistaken. Especially since all this happened so many years ago. And this Cyril had only been passing through when he’d had the affair, so he could have been based anywhere on the south coast.’
‘It’s all a bit hopeless, isn’t it?’ Mary fastened the gate behind them.
‘Not necessarily,’ Peggy hedged. She enjoyed a good mystery as much as anyone, but Mary clearly hadn’t thought things through. She came to a halt by the back door and turned to face her. ‘Mary, dear, have you fully considered the consequences of all this if you do manage to track down this Cyril?’
‘I’ve thought of little else ever since I discovered that document.’ Mary bit her lip and hunched her shoulders. ‘Daddy was a trusting man, who took people at face value, and I just got the feeling from the diary that Cyril wasn’t all he appeared to be.’
Having heard the bare bones of the story, Peggy was fairly certain Mary was right, but as she hadn’t read either the diary or the document, it wasn’t her place to comment.
‘I know there’s a danger that I won’t like him,’ Mary said with a sigh. ‘But there’s this need in me to find him – because until I do, there will always be a part of me that’s missing.’
Peggy nodded. She’d heard of other adopted children needing to know who they were and where they’d come from – but their search for the truth rarely had a happy ending. ‘Well, if you’re absolutely certain about pursuing this, I want you to know you’ll always have me to turn to if the going gets rough.’
‘Oh, Peggy, that is kind. But—’
‘There are no buts about it,’ she replied firmly. ‘You’re in need of a friend, of someone who can help and advise you as a mother would. I might not be your mother, or even your Aunt Barbara, but my heart is warm and there is always room there for one more stray chick.’ She saw the tears glitter on the girl’s eyelashes and swiftly embraced her. ‘There’s no need for that,’ she murmured. ‘You’ve got me now.’
She drew back and waited for Mary to compose herself. ‘That’s better. Now, if you’ve got no objections, I think I should ask Ron about Cyril. He knows more people than you and I can shake a stick at, and if he can’t pin him down, then no one can.’
‘Won’t he be shocked that I’m, I’m . . . Well, you know,’ Mary stammered.
‘Good grief,’ Peggy gasped in amazement. ‘Ron’s the last person to be shocked by anything, least of all something like that. It’s not your fault, and you mustn’t ever think it is. Besides, I’m not about to tell him your personal business. I just want to ask if he knows Cyril.’
Mary smiled. ‘Thanks, Peggy. And what if he does know who he is? What then?’
‘I’ll ask him to tell me all he knows about him, and then you and I can come to a decision as to whether or not we take it any further.’
Mary suddenly looked anxious. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’
‘Trouble? Who for?’
‘Well, Cyril, I suppose – or rather his family.’
Peggy was of the opinion that Cyril Fielding deserved all the trouble he got and more besides. ‘Let’s deal with one thing at a time and not get ahead of ourselves,’ she said briskly as she pushed the pram into the scullery. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for another cuppa, and a good dollop of that Irish stew I’ve left simmering in the slow oven all afternoon.’