Rosie was walking quickly up the Borough Road towards the Holme Café, where she was due to meet Peter. Her haste, though, was not because she was running late, but simply because she felt so excited. So happy. It was a buzz of anticipation that was now familiar, but it was also a feeling that had not abated in the least since the two of them had become lovers over a month ago.
Rosie might have just done a hard day’s graft in freezing cold temperatures, in the usual gale-like conditions that went hand in hand with working within spitting distance of the harsh North Sea, but on the evenings she was due to meet up with Peter, she felt rejuvenated. As fresh as a daisy. It was as though the very thought of being with him instantly restored her depleted energy levels.
As she reached the bottom end of Holmeside, she spotted Peter striding down the other side of the road. She couldn’t quite make out his face, but she could now recognise his swaying gait a mile off, and the way he never buttoned up his coat so that it always seemed to have a life of its own as it flailed around his legs. He’d obviously given up trying to keep his trilby on and was presently carrying it scrunched up in his right hand.
The physical effect Peter had on Rosie never ceased to surprise her. Every time she saw him, even if they had only been parted for a day or two, it was as though her body was being given a tiny jolt of electricity. It came as quickly as it went, but it always took her off guard.
Rosie waved as they neared each other.
‘How’s that for timing!’ Peter’s low, definite voice sounded out. He strode towards her and immediately wrapped one arm around her waist, so that their bodies were pressed together, and kissed her. He kissed her again on the neck and whispered, ‘God, I’ve missed you.’
Rosie felt herself blush. It had only been a few days since she had seen him, but she too felt like it’d been an eternity. She wanted to tell him so, but of course she didn’t.
Peter went to open the café door, but Rosie grabbed his hand.
‘Would you quickly like to meet Kate?’
Peter took a step back. This was a bolt out of the blue. Rosie had not shown any inclination to introduce him to anyone she knew, let alone those closest to her. And he knew Kate was very special to her. The pair of them had been school friends, but after Kate’s mum had died suddenly when she was ten, she’d been taken into the care of the Poor Sisters of Nazareth. It hadn’t been until last year that Rosie had come across Kate begging in town and had taken her in. Not surprisingly, out of all Rosie’s nearest and dearest, apart from Charlotte of course, it was Kate she was the most protective over. By introducing him to Kate, Rosie was showing Peter just how much she trusted him and also how serious she was about him.
‘I’d love to meet her!’ Peter said.
‘Come on, then,’ Rosie said, tugging him towards the Maison Nouvelle, which was just next to the café.
Kate’s boutique had officially opened for business last week, although there had been a growing number of customers through the doors well before then. Word was spreading about the unique little seamstress-cum-clothes-shop that had just started up, run by a young woman who, it was said, was like Coco Chanel in both looks and talent.
Rosie pushed open the glass-fronted door of Kate’s boutique, the front window of which had Bel’s beautiful pastel-pink wedding dress on show, although its view was obscured by the criss-cross of anti-blast tape.
‘Kate!’ Rosie’s voice sang out at the same time as the little brass bell tinkled above the doorway.
As Peter followed Rosie into the shop, his eyes widened.
‘My goodness!’ He couldn’t hide his astonishment. He felt as though he had just stepped into another world – an Aladdin’s cave stuffed full of a dressmaker’s treasures. Rolls of fabric were stacked up against the walls, and there was a black and gold Singer sewing machine on a trestle, surrounded by baskets of overflowing ribbons and huge jars filled with buttons of all shapes and sizes. Two mannequins, swaths of silk and lace pinned to them, took centre stage.
It was only when Peter caught a sudden movement behind the long wooden workbench, which was littered with pincushions, cotton reels and what looked like samples of embroidery, that he saw, or rather heard, Kate.
‘Ouch!’
Kate had been rummaging around in a basket on the floor and on hearing the doorbell she’d jerked her head up quickly and caught the underside of the bench.
‘Oh, Kate! Are you all right?’ Rosie hurried over to see her friend, who was now rubbing her head with one hand, the other clasping the piece of velvet she had been searching for.
‘Yes, yes,’ Kate said, but her eyes were glued to Peter and a genuine smile was spreading across her narrow, pale face. ‘I see you have brought a visitor,’ she said, turning her head back to Rosie.
‘Well, I thought it was about time Peter met those who are closest to me.’ Rosie looked over to see her lover stepping towards Kate with his hand outstretched. ‘And I thought to myself, what better person to start with than my very dearest – and oldest – friend?’
Kate tossed her velvet scrap onto the workbench and took Peter’s hand for a formal introduction.
‘Pleased to meet you, Kate,’ Peter said, stooping down a little as he hadn’t realised just how small she was. He had quite vivid recollections of her when she had been brought in by the local constabulary for vagrancy, but had never realised just how petite she was.
‘Likewise,’ Kate said, shaking his hand, which felt rather huge in her own, but was also surprisingly gentle. She also recognised Peter. Not that she had ever had any direct dealings with him in the past, but she’d spent enough time in the cells at the Borough Police headquarters to have clocked most of the coppers who came and went.
Neither of them let on, however, that they knew the other. Peter out of respect, and Kate because she never allowed her old life to even take a peek out of the box where she kept it securely locked away.
‘This place is amazing!’ Peter said, once again looking around him and seeing a rack of clothes he had not spotted when he first came in. Seeing Peter’s eyes rest on the five dresses hanging from the metal frame, Kate looked at Rosie.
‘Peter’s got a sharp eye,’ she said with a mischievous look on her face. ‘He’s spotted something I was going to give you this evening, but as you’re here – ’ Kate stepped over various obstacles to get to the dresses that were hanging up ‘ – I might as well give it to you now.’
Rosie and Peter watched as Kate pulled one of the hangers off the rail.
‘This, Rosie – ’ she held the dress to the side so that it could be seen in all its glory ‘ – is my Christmas present to you.’
Rosie took a sharp intake of breath as she looked at the very beautiful, crimson rayon dress that had a loose V-shaped neckline and a thin belt around the waist.
‘Oh, Kate! It’s gorgeous!’ Rosie said.
Kate proudly handed her the dress.
‘I know you prefer trousers, but I thought – ’ she looked over at Peter quickly before returning her attention to Rosie ‘ – that as you seem to be going out more of an evening, you could do with a nice dress to wear.’
Kate walked across to the free-standing mirror and angled it towards Rosie. She then stepped back to the woman who had given her a new life, and whom she loved so very much, and held the dress just an inch in front of her.
‘See how the colour complements her corn-coloured hair,’ Kate said to Peter, ‘and the cut of the dress totally suits Rosie’s figure.’
‘I really don’t know what to say!’ Rosie was totally taken aback.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Kate said, ‘just wear it. And enjoy wearing it! It goes without saying that you’ll look totally stunning in it.’
Not, Kate thought, that Rosie needed this dress to look stunning, especially since she had kissed and made up with her detective. This past month everyone at the bordello had commented on how Rosie was positively glowing. Vivian had said she ‘radiated being in love’. And all the women had admitted to feeling a tad jealous that Rosie had very obviously found ‘The One’.
Everyone, that was, apart from Lily, who was still very sceptical about the whole romance and seemed determined to cling on to her suspicions of Peter, whom she still insisted on calling ‘Detective Sergeant Miller’. Kate hadn’t argued the point with her – everyone had a right to their own opinions – but as far as Kate was concerned, Rosie was the happiest she had ever seen her, and that was all that mattered.
Seeing Peter for herself now, and meeting him properly, Kate was confident that the man Rosie had fallen for meant her friend no harm. Kate had seen enough of life to know good from bad, and Peter, she knew, was one of the good ones.
‘So, our Rosie is leaving us tomorrow,’ Kate said to Peter.
‘I know.’ Peter looked instantly crestfallen. ‘I tried my hardest to persuade her to allow Charlotte to spend Christmas here in our lovely town.’ He looked over at Rosie. Kate was now carefully putting the red dress into a garment bag. ‘But,’ he added, ‘to no avail.’
‘Our “lovely” town,’ Rosie retorted, ‘appears to have caught Herr Hitler’s attention this past year and he seems determined to keep paying us regular visits.’ She looked at Peter and Kate as if ready for an argument. ‘It’s too risky to have her here at the moment.’
Rosie had had to contend not only with Peter’s subtle attempts to persuade her to allow Charlotte to come and stay, but also with her sister’s not so subtle demands that she be allowed to do so.
Kate and Peter looked at each other. Neither of them needed to say anything; it was clear they were thinking the same thing. Rosie could perhaps be accused of being a tad overcautious, and more than a little overprotective of her younger sibling.
Kate zipped up the front of the bag and handed it to Peter to carry.
‘Well, as Rosie is leaving us tomorrow, all the more reason why I am now going to push you both out the door.’ She looked up at the large grandfather clock that she had inherited with the shop and from which she had hung a huge berry-red ribbon; it was her one and only nod to the festive period.
‘It’s getting on,’ she said in the sternest voice she could muster, ‘and you two need to make the most of what little time you have together. So, go on. Get yourselves away!
‘In fact,’ she said, suddenly getting an idea, ‘if you’re not to spend Christmas together, why don’t you two celebrate it this evening instead? It is the eve before Christmas Eve, after all!’
Peter didn’t need telling twice. With his free hand he opened the tinkling shop door while Rosie gave Kate a big hug, thanking her over and over again for her dress.
‘Let’s ditch the café,’ Peter said, once they were back on the street. Thankfully the wind had now dropped, although so had the temperature. ‘Why don’t you come back to mine, change into your new dress, and we’ll go for a drink?’
Rosie pulled her coat tight around her and nodded her agreement.
‘Bus?’ Peter asked.
‘No, let’s walk,’ Rosie said.
Peter took her hand. He was glad they were walking, in spite of the bitter cold. It would give them time to talk.
‘I can’t believe how different Kate is,’ Peter said as they walked up Holmeside.
Rosie had guessed Peter would probably know her friend from Kate’s days on the streets, but knew he would never have embarrassed her by making any kind of mention of it, unless Kate brought the subject up herself.
‘How much she’s changed,’ he added thoughtfully.
The darkness of the enforced blackout created an intimacy between them that was partly the reason Rosie had not wanted to take public transport, despite the plummeting temperatures. Walking close together with only the light of the half-moon to guide their way made it feel as though they were in their own private world.
‘I know,’ Rosie agreed.
‘Even her voice sounds different,’ Peter added. He remembered how Kate would often be dragged off the streets into the station, kicking and screaming, out of her mind on cheap spirits. He recalled her having quite a strong local accent, but hearing her this evening, if he hadn’t known better he might well have thought she hailed from the south.
Rosie laughed. ‘Well, that’s all due to Lily. As well as a new hairstyle and wardrobe, she also gave her elocution lessons, which is ironic as Lily is a pure-bred cockney!’
Peter chuckled. The more he heard about this Lily, the more he was intrigued. He wasn’t stupid, though, and he knew that as a long-time madam, Lily probably would not be best pleased Rosie was courting a copper. ‘I bet you Lily was amazed when she discovered that Kate had such a natural talent,’ he mused.
‘I don’t think Lily could believe her luck. She was more than happy to have Kate as a live-in maid, but when she saw what Kate could do with a needle and thread, that was it. In the blink of an eye the duster got replaced with an old sewing machine.’
As they turned into Stockton Road, a car, followed by a bus, passed by, both driving at a snail’s pace as the light was so limited they could just about make out the road. This was the first time Rosie had talked so freely and openly about Lily, or even really mentioned the bordello. Peter knew it was another sign that Rosie was truly starting to trust him.
‘I told you her mother was the village dressmaker, didn’t I?’ Rosie asked.
Peter murmured that she had.
‘Kate obviously takes after her, but I think there’s more to it with Kate. That shop, her designs, her dressmaking – they’re all she thinks about. It’s her obsession – not that it’s a bad obsession to have. I mean, you’ve seen some of her creations, they’re incredible. You just need to look at Bel’s wedding dress.’
Peter nodded his silent agreement. He could see that the Maison Nouvelle was just the start for Kate. If they won the war, she was going to go far. With or without Lily’s help.
‘Does she ever talk to you about her time on the streets? Or her time at Nazareth House?’ he asked.
‘No, never,’ Rosie said, sadly thinking of the occasion she had seen Kate as a child, about a year after she’d been taken into the so-called ‘care’ of the nuns. Rosie shuddered as she remembered how she had barely recognised her old school friend, how Kate had carried the look of a dog that was regularly thrashed – her once vibrant eyes dead, her skinny arms and legs covered in bruises and welts.
‘I do worry she keeps so much stored up inside her, one day it’s just all going to have to come out.’
They were both quiet for a while.
Peter knew about the nuns residing at Nazareth House and that there were more than a few bad apples among them. It was knowledge he could do nothing with, and those that could seemed happy to brush it under the carpet. It infuriated and angered him beyond belief, but he knew it was someone else’s battle.
‘You did a very kind thing, taking her in,’ Peter said, as he cast his eye across to Rosie.
‘Something she seems intent on repaying me back for tenfold,’ Rosie said, nodding at her new dress lying in its protective bag over Peter’s arm.
As they crossed over the road and made their way down Grange Terrace, they walked past the front of the tenement where Rosie had lived back when they had met for the very first time, after her uncle Raymond’s body had been found at the bottom of the river. Neither of them said anything, but Peter squeezed Rosie’s hand as they passed. They didn’t want to bring up any kind of remembrance of the man who had caused Rosie such trauma and hurt.
‘I have to bring you up to date on Vinnie,’ Peter said, knowing that he had to tell Rosie about his visit to Vinnie’s cell yesterday. The sooner Gloria got to know, the better.
Rosie looked at Peter, panic and concern on her face. ‘You haven’t done anything, have you?’
Peter let go of Rosie’s hand and instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to him.
‘Not in the way you’re thinking,’ he laughed.
As they turned down Belvedere Road, Peter asked Rosie if she had heard the news that they were widening the scope of conscription.
‘No,’ Rosie said, ‘I haven’t.’ She looked embarrassed by her lack of knowledge.
‘It’s only just happened,’ Peter explained. ‘Parliament’s just sanctioned the changes, so I’m not surprised you haven’t. It always takes these things a while to filter through.’ He took a breath and explained. ‘The long and short of it is that all men under the age of fifty-one now have to do some kind of military service.’
For the briefest of moments Rosie panicked. Peter was forty-three. ‘That doesn’t mean you’re going to be called up?’ The words came out as soon as she thought them, but she reprimanded herself. ‘God, I really am being thick today. Obviously they can’t call you up, because you’re in a reserved occupation.’ Rosie snuggled into Peter’s chest as a car passed and sounded its horn at a couple across the road who waved back their greeting.
Peter was just about to say something when Rosie perked up.
‘Sorry, you were saying? Vinnie?’
Peter paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Yes, Vinnie. Well, when I heard this, it gave me an idea.’
‘Go on,’ Rosie said, knowing that what Peter was about to tell her was going to bring Gloria tidings of great joy.
‘Well, it was all quite straightforward,’ he said. ‘I merely pointed out that he had two alternatives.’
Peter briefly explained the choices he had put to Vinnie, who had sensibly opted to take the free rail ticket down to Portsmouth. Peter’s somewhat sanitised telling of the time he had spent with Vinnie yesterday ended with the reassurance that Vinnie was now under the command of a very good friend of his, and should Gloria’s soon-to-be-ex-husband go AWOL, Peter would be the first to know.
‘Not that I think he would have a lot to come back for,’ Peter said, before explaining that Vinnie’s live-in girlfriend had also washed her hands of him after she had been shown the very detailed police statements.
‘I actually think,’ Peter reflected as they neared the turning to Tunstall Vale, ‘that there was a part of her that was relieved. She was certainly pretty adamant that I pass the message on to Vinnie that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.’
Rosie stopped Peter, reached up and took his face in her hands, then kissed him full on the lips.
‘DS Miller,’ she said, ‘you are the best! And a genius strategist. And I love that Vera’s pastries were part of your cunning plan!’
Peter felt as proud as Punch. He had never been able to chat to anyone about his occasional forays into what he called his ‘alternative policing methods’.
‘This is the best Christmas present ever for Gloria.’ Rosie planted another kiss on his lips. ‘Thank you!’
As they continued on their way, Peter’s feeling of worthiness soon diminished and was replaced by a slight nervousness. He should have said something when he’d told Rosie about the new legislation. It would have been the perfect opening to start the conversation he knew he could no longer avoid.
Peter opened his mouth and was just about to speak when Rosie suddenly looked at him.
‘You’ll take care of yourself when I’m away, won’t you?’ All the talk about conscription and trips to Portsmouth had suddenly made her think how terrible it would be if Peter were to be taken away from her.
‘I know I shouldn’t say this,’ she hesitated, ‘and I know we haven’t been courting for all that long, but if anything ever happened to you, or you weren’t here for any reason, I think life would be unbearable.’
They had just reached the gate that led onto Brookside Gardens and were now standing looking at each other.
Peter saw that Rosie’s eyes were wet with emotion.
‘I love you,’ Rosie said simply. It was the first time she had said the words, although her actions had already told him what she felt many times. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I never want to be parted from you.’
Peter looked down at the woman who had stolen his heart from the moment they’d first met.
‘And I love you too, Rosie. So very, very much.’
As they kissed for a moment, Peter felt awash with a terrible guilt. Why did love always seem to come hand in hand with hurt?
They walked in silence to Peter’s front door. Once they were in, Rosie turned to him.
He switched on the hallway light and could see that her eyes were sparkling and her face was a picture of pure happiness.
‘You know what?’ she said with a half-smile.
Peter traced the outline of her face with his finger. ‘What?’ he whispered into her ear whilst untying the belt on her grey mackintosh.
‘I think Kate is right,’ Rosie answered, her voice soft. ‘Let’s pretend this is Christmas Day.’
Peter murmured his agreement as he slid his free arm inside her coat and around her waist.
‘So,’ Rosie said, her lips grazing Peter’s neck, ‘what would we do if it was just the two of us?’
‘Well,’ Peter answered without hesitation, ‘first of all, you’d have to put on your special Christmas dress.’
His face was deadly serious as he handed her the clothes bag.
Rosie’s eyes twinkled as she took the dress without saying anything and went upstairs to change.
Peter took off his coat and went straight into the small but cosy living room with its well-worn armchair and sofa littered with cushions. He switched on the side light and quickly knelt down and grabbed the matches by the hearth to start up the fire that he had stacked up with kindling and coal before he’d left that morning.
He then went back out into the hallway and shouted up the stairs.
‘How about a spam sandwich in lieu of a roasted chicken?’
He could hear Rosie’s gentle laughter as she opened the bedroom door.
‘Give me spam over chicken any day!’ she shouted back down the stairs.
Five minutes later the fire was blazing and Peter had quickly slapped together two spam sandwiches, which he had cut into triangles and put on a plate in an attempt to make them look more enticing.
He was just pouring them both a glass of brandy when Rosie walked through the doorway in her new red dress.
Peter stood and stared.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Rosie said, as she walked across and took her drink.
‘Happy Christmas, Rosie,’ Peter said, kissing her gently on the lips.
Peter knew then that what he had to tell Rosie would have to wait until she got back.
This evening was just too perfect to spoil.