It was a relatively quiet night in Cliffehaven, and although the planes had been taking off and landing at Cliffe aerodrome on a regular basis, the noise they made was so familiar that no one really noticed it any more.
The atmosphere at Beach View was tranquil, and Peggy sat by the fire in her kitchen with the wireless turned down low for company. Daisy was asleep in her cot, Ron was off somewhere with the Home Guard, the girls were at the pictures, and Cordelia had been taken to dinner at the Conservative Club by Bertie Double-Barrelled, who’d turned up looking very dapper in black tie with a yellow rosebud in his buttonhole.
Peggy sipped her tea, thinking how pleasant it was to have the house to herself for a while, and not to be interrupted by the sirens going off. These quiet moments would give her the chance to really relax and enjoy Jim’s latest letters – and there had been a bonanza of five arriving today which she’d only managed to skim through earlier on.
She smiled fondly at Harvey and Queenie who were curled up together in front of the range fire, and then sifted through the collection of airgraphs and air letters to make sure she read them in the correct order. Some were almost two months old, while two of the airgraphs had been written less than ten days ago, which went to prove how efficient those girls were in the Kodak factories with their filming and censoring.
The air letters gave Jim much more space to write than the airgraphs, and accordingly, his handwriting sprawled across the thin blue paper. Ernie, his best pal, was recovering from yet another nasty bout of dysentery, and although Jim was suffering from a sore throat, a cold and a gippy tummy, he was muddling through. He’d found leeches on his legs that morning and on the puppy, Patch, that he’d taken on, but he’d burnt them off with a lighted cigarette and given him and the pup a good scrub in a bath of disinfectant.
The heat was almost unbearable at midday, but the work on the broken-down trucks continued, and he’d been sent further north to take over the running of another depot. The accommodation there had proved to be very basic, and he’d had to share with another officer who he hadn’t thought much of, because he was a terrible snob and kept banging on about his days at Eton and Sandhurst.
He was finding the routine boring, but it had been enlivened a bit by an invitation to visit one of the tea plantations, which had turned out to be a rather lively occasion after sampling the man’s stock of good Irish whiskey. There had also been a party of sorts laid on by his commanding officers which had involved the arrival of eight nurses from the nearby American hospital. The sight of white women had gone to some of the men’s heads and the night had ended up with one of the majors trying to perform acrobatics while a young captain showed his prowess – or lack of it – at juggling empty bottles.
Peggy smiled at this and tried not to think about Jim dancing with the nurses, for it was too painful and she knew he’d have been the life and soul of the party. She finished the two flimsy airmail letters and took the airgraphs out of their brown envelopes.
They were small and Jim’s writing was cramped, but she was delighted to read that he’d loved receiving all her letters, and those from Ron and Cordelia, and the rest of the family. They had helped to pass the time when the monsoon rains and the heat made it impossible to work, and he was longing for the war to end so he could come home to the clean sea winds of Cliffehaven.
There had been a large forest fire nearby, but no one had been hurt, and so far, the Yanks were keeping the Japs well away from where Jim was based. The mosquitoes were still attacking in swarms, but at least his pal Ernie had now recovered and was back in camp. He and Jim had rigged up some decent electric lighting in their basha – bamboo hut – and had even managed to find a couple of old tin baths somewhere that the native servants would fill with hot water. Jim and Ernie had grown quite fond of bathing out of doors, and with a cold beer in their hands, they’d sit and gossip and watch the world go by in luxury.
Peggy finished the airgraphs, put them back in their envelopes and sat for a moment, staring into the fire. It was hard to imagine Jim in a jungle – harder still to believe that he was beginning to feel settled amidst the mosquitoes and natives. Yet she knew Jim would always make the best of any situation by commandeering the little luxuries in life, dodging the dirtiest and most difficult jobs and making sure he ate three square meals a day. It was simply not in his nature to volunteer for anything unless there was some personal benefit in it, and it looked as if that hadn’t changed.
She placed the letters carefully on the mantelpiece beneath the coloured print of the King and Queen, and then dug her cigarettes out of her apron pocket. Resting back in the chair, she smoked her cigarette and closed her eyes. She supposed she ought to be doing some knitting or mending, but she was too tired. It had been a long, busy day. Doris had been an absolute pain in the neck all afternoon, and teatime had been disrupted by Queenie coming indoors with a field mouse in her mouth. Ron had dealt with it, Queenie had gone off in a huff and Cordelia had taken some time to pacify, for she didn’t like any sort of rodent – especially when they came into the house.
Peggy heard a key turn in the front door and glanced up at the clock, surprised to see it was only nine o’clock. ‘Who on earth?’
‘It’s only me, dear,’ said Cordelia. She came into the kitchen looking disgruntled.
‘You’re home very early,’ said Peggy. ‘And where’s Bertie?’
Cordelia propped her walking stick against a kitchen chair and took off her gloves before struggling out of her overcoat to reveal her smartest black velvet dress. ‘He had to rush off,’ she said flatly. ‘And I’m not best pleased about it, because I never got a chance to have dessert and coffee.’
Peggy could see that she was very put out, so bit back on a smile. Cordelia loved her puddings, and the Conservative Club was renowned for serving wonderful plum duffs and jam roly-polys. No wonder Bertie was in her bad books. ‘Oh, dear. Was he not feeling well – or have you two fallen out again?’
‘He was as fit as a fiddle,’ Cordelia retorted as she poured tea into a cup. ‘And I didn’t argue when he said we had to leave – I was having a rotten time of it anyway. But if he does that sort of thing again I shall refuse any more of his dubious invitations.’ She plumped down into the chair on the other side of the range and primly smoothed her dress over her knees.
Peggy felt a jolt of concern. ‘Dubious? I thought you were going to the Conservative Club – not some racy gambling den.’
Cordelia sipped her tea. ‘Perhaps dubious was the wrong word,’ she said. ‘Unsatisfactory would be better.’ She set the cup and saucer down and regarded Peggy evenly. ‘He spent the first hour in a huddle with a group of his men friends, leaving me to converse with their wives, who were really quite awful. Doris would have loved it, because they did nothing but boast about their smart houses and friends, and their husbands’ important positions in the town.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘How awful for you.’
‘I was bored rigid, so I made an excuse and went and sat in the powder room flicking through old magazines until the gong went for dinner.’ Cordelia grimaced. ‘No one had even noticed I’d gone, and I have to say I was quite tempted to get a taxi home and leave them to it.’
Peggy’s eyes widened. ‘Good heavens,’ she breathed. ‘You must have been very upset, and I don’t blame you one little bit for wanting to leave. And here’s me thinking what a gentleman he is. Does Bertie always carry on like that when he takes you out?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘He’s a sociable sort, and usually very attentive. But since joining the Cliffehaven Gentlemen’s Society, he’s changed.’
Peggy frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of the Cliffehaven Gentlemen’s Society.’
‘You wouldn’t have unless you move in certain circles,’ said Cordelia with a sniff that denoted her disapproval. ‘It’s as secretive as the Masons – and probably just as daft – but Bertie thinks he’s the absolute bee’s knees since he was invited to join it.’
‘So what does this society stand for? Are they a charity linked to the Conservative Club?’
Cordelia shrugged, her lips pursed. ‘I don’t think they’re affiliated to anything political, but I suppose it could be charitable. It’s most likely just some silly men’s club that gives them an excuse to eat and drink and stay out late at night without their women in tow. Their wives don’t seem to know anything, and as I said before, it’s all very exclusive.’
Peggy stubbed out her cigarette and threw the butt into the fire. ‘However exclusive it might be, it’s no excuse for treating you badly. Did Bertie explain why he had to bring you home so early before dashing off?’
‘He’d forgotten there was a special meeting tonight,’ Cordelia replied. ‘He did apologise, but I could tell he was more interested in getting to that meeting than seeing me home safely, so I made him pay for my taxi.’
‘He made you come home on your own in a taxi?’ Peggy gasped. ‘Good heavens, Cordelia, that’s appalling bad manners.’
The fight seemed to go out of Cordelia and she shrugged. ‘Better that than him driving like a lunatic and risking our lives to get me here so he wasn’t late for his meeting. At least the taxi driver helped me up the steps to the door.’
Peggy patted her hand. ‘I should give up on him altogether, dear,’ she murmured. ‘It seems he’s not quite the gentleman we thought he was.’
‘I agree. But it’s a shame, because I really rather enjoyed our little drives out into the country and the evenings playing bridge at the golf club. Bertie could be good company.’
She gave a wistful sigh and then looked back at Peggy with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘I obviously don’t fit in with his smart new set – and frankly, I wouldn’t want to. But I tell you what, Peggy dear, they might think an awful lot of themselves, but my late husband wouldn’t have approved of any of them. Nouveau, he would have called them, with more money than sense and absolutely no substance or class.’
Peggy was relieved that Cordelia seemed to be in a better mood. ‘Oh dear. They do sound horrid.’
Cordelia gave a little snort of derision. ‘The women were covered in flashy jewellery and expensive silks, and the men were little better in their brand new tuxedos with pearl studs in their shirts and vulgar cufflinks. My father always said you could tell a real gentleman by the age and cut of his dinner jacket – at least Bertie didn’t let me down on that.’
Peggy had never moved within the sort of circles that called for tuxedos and flashy jewellery, and couldn’t really understand why an old dinner jacket was better than a new one, but she let it pass. Cordelia had some old-fashioned ideas that didn’t always make sense.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a bit mollified,’ she said quietly. ‘But I have to say, I am intrigued by this society Bertie has joined. It must be very new for me not to have heard about it. Did you recognise any of the men Bertie was talking to? Perhaps they might give us a clue as to what it’s all about.’
‘Simpkins the town clerk, Mr Eade, that ghastly little solicitor, and Lord Cliffe’s nephew. There were one or two others I recognised, but couldn’t put a name to.’
‘Lord Cliffe’s nephew? I would have thought he had better things to do than hobnob with people like Eade and Simpkins.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste,’ said Cordelia. ‘And I never did like Jasper Cliffe anyway – far too pompous and pleased with himself – not at all like his uncle.’
‘Lord Cliffe is a lovely man, I agree,’ sighed Peggy, ‘and so approachable when it comes to doing good works in the town. It’s a shame his nephew failed his medical into the services. A dose of army training would have done that wastrel the world of good.’
Cordelia’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, no dear, he didn’t fail the medical. That was just an excuse so he could get a cushy desk job up in London.’
Peggy stared at her in utter amazement. ‘I can scarcely believe it,’ she gasped. ‘And after all the wonderful work his uncle has done for the war effort . . .’ She fell silent as her thoughts whirled. ‘Eade’s a slimy creep too. Do you think this society Bertie has joined is for that kind of man?’
Cordelia stared at her. ‘I shouldn’t think so for a minute,’ she said stoutly. ‘Bertie might be many things, but he’s a patriot to the core and has the medals he won from the last war to prove it. As for Eade and Jasper, Bertie has always been very scathing about them and others like them – calls them dishonourable cowards for cheating enlistment.’
‘But that didn’t stop him from accepting the society’s invitation to join,’ Peggy pointed out.
‘That’s as maybe. But I’m sure Bertie will give the two of them a very wide berth. After all, there are plenty of others in the society with whom he has more in common. I’ve seen them up at the golf club.’
‘It’s all very odd,’ murmured Peggy.
‘I shouldn’t let it bother you, dear,’ said Cordelia comfortably. She finished her cup of tea and wriggled out of the chair. ‘Men join these things to make them feel important, and I suspect making money is at the root of it all.’ She kissed Peggy’s cheek. ‘Now, I’m off to bed for an early night with my new library book. See you in the morning.’
Peggy made sure she negotiated the stairs safely and then returned to the kitchen where she sat and stared into the fire. Jasper Cliffe had always been a thorn in his uncle’s side, with his gambling and rather fast set of friends – and she could only imagine the humiliation poor Lord Cliffe must be going through now it seemed to be common knowledge that his nephew was an immoral coward hiding behind a desk.
But why would any society actively recruit men like Jasper and Eade, who were considered social pariahs? What was it other than money and position that linked them to Simpkins and Bertie Double-Barrelled, who’d fought so bravely in the First War and were patriots to the core? Could it be about making even more money, as Cordelia suspected? And who were the other men involved?
Peggy had never trusted secretive societies. She finally gave up trying to figure it all out and decided to ask Ron about it in the morning.