Bruce Tremaine was concerned about Maisie. They had been good friends for several years, ever since she had first come to Middlebeck as a nine-year-old girl. She had been wary of him at first, he recalled, but he had known from the start that she was a tough little kid who had already received more than her fair share of hard knocks. She had become fond of his dog, Prince, and the animal had often accompanied them on walks through the country lanes around Tremaine House and the Nixons’ farm; Maisie, Audrey and himself, and sometimes Doris as well.
He had seen them only irregularly as he had been away at boarding school, and each time he came home the three girls had grown a little in stature and in maturity as well. But he had thought of them as little girls, sort of kid sisters, and it had come as something of a shock to him, returning home on this present leave, to see how grown-up they had suddenly all become. They were very attractive young ladies, all three of them. There was Doris with her slightly buxom fresh-complexioned, ‘milkmaid’ kind of beauty; Audrey, blonde and blue-eyed with a Dresden china sort of prettiness; and Maisie, a contrast to the other two with her deep brown eyes and dark hair and winning smile; an arresting loveliness which forced you to take notice of her. He had to admit that Maisie had always been his favourite of the three friends, the one who had seemed to be more on his wavelength. He had corresponded with her ever since he had joined the RAF, but not with the other two girls. She had shown an interest in his progress on the training course and had sent congratulations from all three of them when he had been awarded his wings. She had kept him in touch, too, with anecdotes and news from home and he had come to look forward to her letters more and more. He could not have explained, even to himself, why he had not told her in his letters about his developing friendship with Christine.
It had come as a great shock to him after the concert when Christine had told him that she believed that Maisie was in love with him. He had poured scorn on the idea, choosing to believe that Christine herself might be the tiniest bit jealous. It was a trait he had noticed in her once or twice before, although he had never given her cause to be jealous. It was true, though, that Maisie did seem to be avoiding him; or it might just have been that there had been no opportunity for them to get together and have a chat about old times. Chrissie would not have liked that, and whilst she had been staying at Tremaine House, Bruce had thought it only right that he should spend all his time with her. Now she had returned to the camp in advance of him. Her demob was imminent and she wanted to say goodbye to the friends she had made. Bruce was staying for a few more days in Middlebeck before returning to the camp in Lincolnshire. He intended to stay on and make his career in the RAF. As for Chrissie, she would be returning to Bradford, her home town, and her office job at the woollen mill. But he hoped that, before long, he and she would be together for good. Christine Myerscough, he had decided, was the girl with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
But the fact remained that he was anxious about Maisie and he decided, the very day that Christine had departed on the morning train back to Lincoln, that he must go and see her. The Secondary schools were not due to start until the following week, so he guessed that she might be helping out at her mother’s shop on the High Street.
‘Jenner and Jackson’ read the sign over the door. Bruce was pleased that Lily Jackson was now being given credit for the hard work she had put into the shop. Goods were still in short supply, but there was an attractive display in the window. Red, white and blue was the theme, in accordance with the recent VE and VJ celebrations. There were hanks of knitting wool and swathes of ribbons and dress materials in those colours, interspersed with baby clothes in white and pale blue, floral aprons and men’s working shirts, all toning in with the same patriotic colours. A pair of gaily striped blue and white gents’ pyjamas hung at the back and below it, more modestly displayed in a corner, a pair of ladies’ knickers – the old-fashioned ‘directoire’ type with elastic at the waist and knees – in bright scarlet. A large union Jack formed the backdrop, with portraits of King George the Sixth and Queen Elizabeth at either side.
Bruce had noticed on his way down the street that some windows still sported pictures of Winston Churchill, with slogans such as ‘This was our Finest Hour’, but the elderly statesman was now being forced to take a back seat. As he would not be twenty-one until November, Bruce had not been able to vote in the recent election. He was not at all sure, either, as to which way he would have voted. Nobody was supposed to know how others cast their votes. His parents’ generation were still secretive about it, but Bruce had a sneaking feeling that his father, if not his mother, might not have voted for the ‘grand old man’. There was something of the radical now about Archie Tremaine. There had been open and sometimes heated discussions in the Officers’ Mess; it had been no secret that many of the young men, with similar backgrounds to his own, were ready for a change of direction.
He peered through the glass of the shop door and saw that Maisie was alone in the shop, occupied in tidying a shelf behind the counter. He pressed the latch and opened the door and the bell sounded with a welcoming ping. Maisie looked round and he saw the look of open-mouthed surprise on her face for just a moment, before she smiled.
‘Bruce… How lovely to see you…’ She looked inquiringly behind him and out of the door. ‘Are you…er…are you on your own?’
‘Yes, there’s just me,’ he replied. ‘You meant am I with Christine, I suppose?’ He noticed that she gave a curt nod. ‘Chrissie’s gone back to camp. She’s being demobbed soon, you see, but I have a few more days leave. So I decided I must catch up with my…old friends, and spend some time with my parents, of course.’
‘Yes…of course,’ replied Maisie. It seemed for a moment as though there was going to be an awkward silence between them, but then she started to chat in her usual carefree and friendly way. ‘What about you, Bruce? Are you staying in the RAF, or are you getting demobbed as well?’
‘Oh, I’m staying on,’ he replied, ‘I have always wanted to fly, ever since I was at school.’
‘Yes, I remember. You used to talk about it,’ said Maisie. ‘But now that the war’s ended there won’t be any need, will there, for fighter planes?’
‘Not as such, no. But we have to retain our fighting forces – the army and the navy as well as the RAF – even though there is no war at the moment. One never knows where or when skirmishes might break out, and there are bases in Germany now, of course, with peace-keeping forces.’
‘But you are staying in Lincolnshire, are you?’
‘For the moment, yes. There are plans for me to be an instructor now, training new pilots, and I’ll be doing test flights. Yes, they’ll still need the RAF, Maisie… Anyway, that’s enough about me. It really is great to see you again. I’m sorry if you thought I was neglecting you…and Audrey, but Chrissie has only just gone back this morning, and I had to spend my time with her, seeing that I had invited her to Middlebeck…to meet my parents.’
‘I quite understand,’ Maisie said, politely. She did not ask any questions about Christine, and Bruce decided it would be best not to mention her again.
‘So…what about you, Maisie? Back to school soon, I suppose? I notice the Juniors and Infants have already started.’
‘Yes, my brother and sister went back earlier this week. We start on Monday, Audrey and I. Don’t remind me that it’s an important year, Bruce, because I know that.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing so,’ he laughed. He had noticed a slight grimace of annoyance at his mention of the word school. Perhaps this new, grown-up Maisie did not like to be reminded that she was still, in actual fact, a schoolgirl. And likely to be so for two or three more years, he guessed. It would not be surprising, he pondered, if she were to kick out against the restraints, later, if not sooner. ‘I used to hate it when people asked me, “When are you going back?”, and now I’m guilty of doing the same. I am truly sorry, deeply sorry…’ He grinned at her.
‘It’s OK; you’re forgiven,’ she replied easily.
‘So…how about us going on one of those rambles we used to enjoy?’ he continued. ‘You and Audrey, and Doris, too, if she can be spared from the farm.’ He thought it would be best to make it clear from the start that he did not mean himself and Maisie alone, just in case she had any strange ideas of the kind that Christine had suggested. ‘And Prince; that goes without saying. The old boy’s still as sprightly as ever, I’m glad to say.’
‘Yes, I see him out with your father sometimes,’ said Maisie, ‘and he barks and wags his tail when he sees me. Yes… I’d enjoy that and so would Audrey. And we’ll ask Doris; her mother might be able to spare her for an hour or two. We could take a picnic, couldn’t we? Like we did once before, d’you remember…oh, years ago, and we went up to the castle on the hill.’ She looked positively elated at the memory and any previous sign of awkwardness seemed to have vanished.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Bruce. ‘We had young Timothy with us as well. He was limping rather, because it was not all that long after his…accident, but he was really game, insisting he could keep up with us all.’ It was the bombing of the poor little lad’s home in Hull that he was recalling. ‘Perhaps Tim would like to come as well. Or does he not go around with you and Audrey any more?’
‘Not as much,’ said Maisie. ‘He’s got his own friends now, but I’m sure he’d like to spend some time with you, Bruce. We’ll ask him. So…what day would you suggest?’
‘No time like the present,’ he replied. ‘How about tomorrow, early afternoon?’
‘Great,’ said Maisie. ‘I’ll summon the troops then. And I’ll raid my mother’s cake tin and take something to drink as well.’
‘How is Lily?’ asked Bruce. ‘Is she around? I see you are in charge this morning.’
‘She’s fine. On top of the world, actually,’ said Maisie. ‘She and Arthur have just got engaged, and there might even be news of a wedding soon. She’s gone to have a look round the market; she should be back soon.’
‘That’s good news,’ said Bruce. ‘About her marrying Arthur, I mean… And you are pleased about it?’
‘Of course,’ said Maisie, smiling brightly. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
They looked at one another for a brief moment and Bruce could see a touch of defiance in her eyes. He remembered that it would be the girl’s second stepfather, and maybe her mother’s engagement was evoking memories of the first disastrous situation that Lily had got them into, with her hasty re-marriage. But Arthur Rawcliffe, from what Bruce knew of him, was a very different sort of person; strong-minded and reliable and a good businessman, too. He reflected again, though, on how Maisie had matured of late. There must be times, surely, when she wanted to rebel and make her own decisions, instead of succumbing to the pressures and ideas instilled in her by the adults around her.
‘No reason at all,’ replied Bruce now. ‘Arthur’s a good sort, and I wish your mother all the best… By the way, Maisie, I must thank you for the letters you’ve kept on sending me. Letters mean so much to servicemen when we’re away from home. And yours are so bright and full of fun; they were a real tonic.’
She gave a slight shrug of embarrassment. ‘It’s all right. I quite like writing letters. Thank you for yours as well… But I won’t… I mean, now that the war’s over an’ all that, perhaps I won’t write any more? It might be best, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I think so, Maisie,’ he agreed. He guessed that her reasons for not wanting to write any more had little to do with the end of the war. Besides, Christine might well be annoyed, and rightly so, he supposed, if he was corresponding with another young woman. ‘Anyway, you will have quite enough to do with your schoolwork… Sorry, sorry.’ He lifted his hand in a gesture of apology. ‘I’m not supposed to mention that, am I?’
She laughed. ‘It’s OK. I will be busy with choir practices and homework and everything. And we’re going to do a pantomime at church – next January, probably – now that there’s no blackout restrictions. Audrey did really well with the children in Alice in Wonderland, but I’m trying to persuade her to be in it this time, instead of helping to produce.’
‘Yes, she did do well,’ agreed Bruce. ‘And I shall look forward to the pantomime. I must try and get home to see it. What’s it going to be?’
Maisie tapped her nose. ‘It’s a secret yet,’ she smiled, ‘until it’s been cast.’
‘Oh, I see. Very hush-hush, is it? Well, I expect you will have a leading role…I don’t think I told you how much I enjoyed your solo the other night. It was very remiss of me; I meant to tell you at the time. It was first-rate, Maisie. Jolly good show, as some of my RAF mates might say.’
‘Thank you…’ she murmured.
‘Such an evocative song,’ he went on. ‘Well, all Ivor Novello’s songs are nostalgic, aren’t they? And that line about walking down an English lane… It reminded me so much of the countryside round here.’
‘Me too…’ said Maisie quietly.
Their eyes met and held for a few seconds. ‘Maisie…’ said Bruce. He was not sure what he was about to say to her, the moment was so full of poignancy; but it was interrupted by the ping of the shop doorbell and the entrance of Lily.
‘Hello there, Bruce,’ she called brightly. ‘Nice to see you.’ He turned to greet her, and the moment of magic was broken.
‘Hello, Lily,’ he said. ‘I’m catching up with old friends, as you see. And I’ve been hearing about your exciting news. Congratulations on your engagement! I’m sure you and Arthur will be very happy.’
‘Thank you, Bruce,’ she replied. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’m sure we will too…’
‘I’ve tidied the boxes of ribbons, Mum,’ Maisie broke in, ‘and dusted the shelves, like you said. I’ll go upstairs now that you’re back, if you don’t mind. I’ve a few things to sort out…for next week.’ She moved out from behind the counter towards the door that led to the upstairs rooms.
‘OK, love,’ said Lily. ‘You’ve been a good help.’
‘Cheerio then, Bruce. Good to see you.’ Maisie turned to take her leave of him. ‘See you tomorrow then. What time did we say?’
‘We didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Two o’clock suit you? At the village green?’
‘Fine, I’ll tell the others. See you then…’
Maisie averted her face as she left the shop and hurried up the stairs. To her shame and annoyance, she could feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes. ‘You silly, stupid idiot!’ she castigated herself. She had been getting over it very nicely, or so she had thought. For all she had known, Bruce had already returned to his camp; and then to come face to face with him like that, it had been too much.
She had conducted herself very well, though, she thought. She had been determined that nothing in her demeanour – either the tone of her voice or the look in her eyes – would give him a hint of how she felt about him. Because one glance at him had told her that she still cared very deeply.
Everything had been going on all right, then he had looked at her and said her name…and that had been her undoing. If her mother had not come in at that moment she felt that she might well have blurted it all out, about how much she thought about him and how upset she had been on seeing him with Christine. It was just as well that they had been interrupted; saved by the bell, you might say. She felt her cheeks start to flush now when she considered what a fool she might have made of herself.
And yet there had been that look that had passed between them. What had it meant? She doubted that she would ever know. She flung herself down in an armchair, biting her lips and blinking hard. No, no, no! She was not going to give way to tears again. Her mother might well come upstairs at any moment, and she must find her acting perfectly normally. As she had said, there were things she had to sort out for next week for the return to school; books, pens and pencils and so on, and her school uniform. There was no use in sitting here moping, or dreaming of what might have been… She sighed deeply, then stood up with an air of resolution and climbed the second flight of stairs which led to the attic.
Her room was at the back – the one she had chosen when they had first moved in – and from the high vantage point she could see over the rooftops of the houses which lay at the back of the High Street, and over to the distant hills. Not too far distant, though. The ruins of Middleburgh Castle were only a couple of miles away, on top of one of the nearer hills. Down below she could see the silver stream rippling through the meadows, a tributary of the river which ran through the dale. And just visible above a clump of trees, the tall chimney stacks of Tremaine House where the squire and his family had always lived…and where Bruce lived at the moment.
Had it been foolish of her, she wondered, to agree so readily to go on a ramble with him? But it might have seemed churlish to refuse, to say that she was too busy, especially as the invitation had been given to her friends as well. She was determined, however, that she would keep her distance from Bruce. She would walk with Audrey, and Doris, if she was able to go with them, and allow Bruce and Timothy to have some time together. Tim, she knew, hero-worshipped the young pilot who had served in the latter years of the war and had – thank God – come back safe and sound. If Bruce wanted to speak to her personally, then he would have to make the opportunity to do so. And if he didn’t…then she would know that the look that had passed between them had meant very little to him. Bruce was just a good friend, and that was how she would make herself think of him.
The day started well with everyone in high spirits. They met outside the Rectory gate; Maisie, Audrey and Timothy, and Bruce and his collie dog, Prince. They were to meet Doris, who fortunately could be spared for a few hours, at her farm gate, just up the lane behind the church.
They took the short cut through the churchyard to the small gate at the back. The warm summer weather was still continuing, but now, with the start of September, the sun was lower in the sky, shining more directly into their eyes and seeming more powerful than it had at the height of summer, although the long shadows cast by the gravestones across the grass and the path told that autumn was not far away.
In the lane which led to the Nixons’ farm the blackberries hung in the bramble hedges, purple-ripe and glistening; deep red hawthorn berries too, and large juicy rose-hips, loved by the birds. ‘But dangerous for us to eat,’ Maisie remembered that Doris had warned them, the ‘townies’ from Leeds, when they had first arrived. She had been their tutor in many aspects of country lore. So unschooled had they been, she and Audrey, that they had scarcely been able to tell an oak tree from an ash; or differentiate between cows and bulls, she recalled, much to Doris’s amusement.
It had been during the same week of the year as it was now that they had taken their first walk along this very lane. Now, as then, the outer leaves on the trees were yellowing, the start of the time of year known in the country as ‘back-end’. ‘It’s feeling a bit back-endish…’ was a phrase often heard on the lips of country folk. It was the time of year when the farmers had to be prepared for anything. The mellow sunny days might last a while and give an Indian summer, or the autumn rain might start and continue in a deluge, filling the rivers and streams and even overflowing to flood the fields.
As they climbed the first stile, Prince bounding over ahead of them all, they could see Doris waving to them from the farm gate.
‘Glad you could make it,’ said Bruce, when they drew near to her, ‘although it’s quite a busy time on the farm now, isn’t it?’
‘All seasons are busy, one way or another,’ replied Doris. She was already an experienced farmhand, just as willing and able as her brother, Ted – so Ada, her mother, had admitted to Maisie – and Joe, who had recently left the RAF to resume his work on the farm again. ‘Ted and Joe are getting the last of the hay into t’ barn.’ In the nearest fields they could see the tripods holding the pyramids of pale yellow hay, and at the back a barn door stood open revealing the hay stacked high inside.
‘Our Ted and Joe did a fair bit of grumbling, mind,’ said Doris, ‘’cause me mam was letting me go, but she said it could count as me half-day; I usually have it on Saturday, y’see. But I dare say she’ll let me have Saturday off an’ all. I’ve been helping her with the cheese-making this morning, and that’s summat that our Ted and Joe are no good at. Aye, it’s a busy time sure enough. There’s potatoes and root crops to be gathered, and the last of the apples and pears. I’ll have to get stuck in again tomorrer, but it’s nice to have a bit of freedom… Where are we going then?’
‘Oh, up to the castle, I think, if everybody agrees,’ said Bruce. ‘I intended going up there with Christine on Sunday, but we didn’t get any further than the waterfall. It was such a nice day, so we just sat and took our ease.’
It was the first time he had mentioned Christine, and no one made any comment, except to agree that they would climb up to the castle ruins. I bet she didn’t want to walk so far, that Christine, Maisie thought to herself. She didn’t look as though she was well suited to a country life.
Their path took them through a little wood, no more than a copse, where oak and sycamore trees grew closely together. On the fringes grew the mountain ash, making a vivid splash of colour with their bright red berries and feathery pale green leaves against the dark shadows in the middle of the coppice.
Then they were at the waterfall, not a huge cascading torrent but a much more gentle splashing and tumbling of foaming water over peat brown rocks and boulders. As they had done many times before, they crossed the river by the stepping stones, knowing just which ones to choose to avoid getting their feet wet. Prince did not care about wet feet. He bounded ahead and arrived on the opposite bank before any of them, shaking himself and wagging his tail and panting; laughing at them it seemed as he watched them tread much more carefully than he had done across the glistening stones.
The moorland ahead of them was brown with bracken and the heather which had almost finished its flowering. Here and there, though, there was still a patch of purple, sheltered by an outcrop of rock, and the golden gorse bushes added a touch of brightness to the dark-hued landscape. Dull and sombre it might appear in the dark shades of early autumn, but Maisie had learned to love the moorland in each and every season of the year.
Now, walking on her own for a while as they took the path across the moor, she found pleasure, as always, in the scene around her; the criss-cross pattern of drystone walls separating the further fields and the lazy, seemingly motionless, sheep grazing on the distant hills. She could hear the rippling sound of the waterfall and the river they had crossed, the far distant hoot of a train, although from here no railway line was visible, and the lone cry of a moorland bird – Bruce had once told her it was a curlew – wheeling high above.
She felt the wind more keenly on her face as they climbed higher although the sun was still shining. But the clouds were no longer still as they had been an hour or so ago; they were racing across the sky and the approaching ones were edged with grey.
‘D’you think it’s going to rain,’ said Audrey, hurrying to catch up with her.
‘I don’t know; I hope not,’ replied Maisie. ‘I’m not really prepared for it, are you? I’ve got a headscarf and my cardigan, but not a proper coat. It didn’t look as though we would need one.’
‘No, nor have I,’ said Audrey. ‘Aren’t we silly? You’d think with living in the country for so long that we would remember how quickly the weather can change. But it was such a lovely day earlier on. I bet Doris has come well prepared though.’
‘What’s that?’ said Doris. She had been walking behind with Bruce and Timothy, and now they all stood together in a little group. ‘Come prepared for the rain? Is that what you mean? You bet I have. I’ve got me waterproof jacket in here.’ She patted the haversack on her back. ‘Be prepared, that’s my motto, like the Boy Scouts.’ She laughed. ‘Haven’t you got any raincoats?’ They shook their heads. ‘Oh dear; you’re still a couple of town mice, aren’t you?’
‘’Fraid so,’ said Maisie, with a shrug. ‘What about you boys? But I don’t suppose a drop of rain will worry you, will it?’
‘My jacket’s waterproof,’ said Timothy precisely.
‘And so is mine,’ said Bruce. ‘But let’s look on the bright side, eh? The clouds are still quite high in the sky. Come on, best foot forward everyone; we’ll soon be at the top…’
The view, when they reached the ruins of Middleburgh Castle was well worth the climb. There was Middlebeck, nestling in the valley and the silver ribbon of the river. They could make out the tower of the church, the roof and tall chimneys of Bruce’s home and Doris’s squat grey farmhouse.
‘Shall we eat our picnic?’ said Doris, who was always hungry. ‘Come on, before it rains,’ she giggled.
‘Don’t keep saying that!’ said Audrey, glancing anxiously at the sky. ‘You’ll make it rain… Actually, I think the sky’s clearing a bit…’
‘Wishful thinking,’ said Doris, through a mouthful of bread. She was already seated on a rock with her coat as a cushion, tucking into a ham sandwich and taking a gulp from a bottle of Tizer. The rest of them made themselves comfortable and took out the provisions they had brought.
‘Tim and I haven’t got very much,’ said Audrey. ‘Only a packet of crisps each and an apple. Mum’s expecting us back before tea.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Maisie. ‘Only some of me mum’s gingerbread and a bottle of lemonade; Mum made that as well.’ She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a drink. ‘Mmm…that’s good. Here, would you like some?’ She wiped the mouth of the bottle and handed it to Audrey. ‘Have a swig, you and Tim. It’ll be all right; I haven’t got a deadly disease.’
Audrey looked doubtful, but she took the bottle, wiping it again with a clean handkerchief before she took a gulp. ‘Mmm…it’s delicious,’ she agreed. ‘You have some, Tim. Wipe the top first…’ They drank with such relish that Maisie feared there might be none left for her, but it was a large bottle.
‘What about you, Bruce?’ she asked, rather shyly, when she had had another drink. ‘Would you like some? And… haven’t you brought anything to eat?’ He was sitting staring out at the distant landscape.
He shook his head. ‘No; I’ve had quite a decent lunch, and Mother will be cooking a meal this evening.’ He patted his stomach and grinned. ‘I have to keep fit, you know. Can’t afford to put on any extra weight in my job. But I’ll have a taste of your lemonade, please, if you don’t mind, Maisie.’
‘Have what’s left,’ she told him. She tried not to watch him too obviously as he tilted the bottle. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and his Adam’s apple moved visibly in his brown throat as he gulped at the remaining liquid.
‘Nectar for the gods,’ he said, smiling at her as he handed back the empty bottle. ‘Oh no…’ He glanced heavenwards and held out his arm. ‘I do believe… Yes, it’s raining.’
‘Well what did you expect?’ retorted Doris. ‘I told you so.’
‘Perhaps it will only be a shower,’ said Audrey hopefully.
Bruce grimaced. ‘I’m afraid we’re in for a real downpour.’ He stood looking thoughtfully up at the sky. ‘“Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day…”’ he murmured.
‘“And make me travel forth without my cloak,”’ added Maisie quietly, finishing the quotation that she knew. He looked at her and smiled, and once again the glance that they exchanged was full of meaning, or so it seemed to Maisie.
‘What the heck are you on about?’ asked Doris.
‘It’s a poem…’ said Maisie. ‘I remember hearing it at school.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ said Doris. ‘We’re going to be caught in a flippin’ rainstorm, and you two stand around babbling poetry! Come on, let’s get going before we all get soaked.’
Quickly they gathered up their belongings, clothed themselves as adequately as they were able and set off on the trek back to civilisation. The journey down took far less time than the upward one as they hurried and stumbled along the moorland path, over the bridge – instead of the treacherous stepping stones – alongside the river and through the wood, back to the lane near Nixons’ farm. By this time the five of them, and Prince, too, were drenched; but as they stood at the farm gate they laughed, able to see the funny side of it.
‘Ta-ra,’ called Doris, dashing in through the gate. ‘See you sometime, folks. Thanks for inviting me…’ She ran off with a cheery wave.
‘You’d better come home with me,’ said Bruce to the other three, ‘then you can have a rub down and my mother will make you a warm drink. We don’t want anyone catching a chill.’
‘We’ll be OK,’ said Audrey. ‘Actually, Mum might be rather worried about us.’
‘Then phone her from our house,’ said Bruce, ‘and you too, Maisie, and let them know you’re back safe and sound.’ Audrey and Maisie looked at one another and nodded. They didn’t need much persuading.
Maisie laughed. ‘We look like a couple of drowned rats,’ she said. The rain was still pelting down. It had got worse as they had made their descent and now it was a deluge.
‘Come on then; let’s run for it,’ said Bruce. The four of them and the dog raced up the lane to Tremaine House.
Mrs Tremaine, neat and tidy as always in her pleated skirt and pale blue twin-set, was full of concern. The girls went to the bathroom and dried themselves with her big fluffy towels, then she lent them each a cardigan to replace their sodden ones. Then they sat by the Aga stove in the kitchen, with Bruce and Tim, feeling the comforting warmth and enjoying a cup of milky cocoa.
‘I’ve rung your mothers, all of you,’ said Rebecca Tremaine, coming to join them, ‘and I’ll ask Archie to run you home in a little while.’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Tremaine,’ said Maisie, and the other two nodded their thanks, but nobody seemed to want to talk very much.
Maisie was wanting to ask Bruce when he would be returning to his camp, but she felt too shy to do so in front of everyone. It was Rebecca who told them he would be returning in three days’ time. ‘And we hope you will all be able to come to Bruce’s twenty-first celebration,’ she told them. ‘His father and I are planning to have a party for all the family and friends. It will be sometime near the end of November, we’re not quite sure when, but you will all be receiving invitations.’
‘It will depend on when – and if – I can get leave, Mother,’ said Bruce. He did not sound all that excited about it, thought Maisie. In fact it seemed as though he did not like the idea at all.
‘Oh, surely, for your twenty-first, dear…’ said Rebecca. ‘An important event like that. They’re sure to let you have leave.’
‘There’s nothing sure at all in the RAF,’ said Bruce. But that was the end of the discussion because Archie Tremaine came in at that moment from the fields, clad in his gumboots and oilskin coat. He agreed readily to take the three of them back home.
There had been no chance for her to say a special goodbye to Bruce, Maisie reflected later that evening. Neither had she had an opportunity to talk to him properly all day, but that had been her own decision, to keep her distance unless he chose to speak to her on her own. He had not done so, not that there had really been any opportunity…
Don’t kid yourself, you silly idiot… Once again she gave herself a severe talking to. Bruce had a girlfriend, a grown-up one, and she, Maisie, would have to try and forget him. The glances that they had exchanged had probably meant…nothing at all. As for the twenty-first birthday party, Maisie had a strange feeling that it might never take place; at least, not if Bruce had anything to do with it.