‘I thought you might like to come over to me for Christmas Day itself,’ Marjorie suggested a few days later over a cup of coffee. ‘I’m all settled in now, I’ve even got a Christmas tree.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather to come to us, Mother?’ asked Felix, surprised at her suggestion.
‘No, not really, darling,’ she said. ‘The last few Christmases it was just Dad and me at the manor. I think I’d rather do something quite different this year.’ She turned to Daphne who, for the first time, had come with Felix to visit her at Eden Lodge. ‘Would you like to cook the Christmas dinner, Daphne, or shall I ask Mrs Darby to come in? I don’t think she’ll mind just for an hour or so.’
‘To cook what?’ Daphne sounded very apprehensive. While they’d been in London, she and Felix had been living on a diet of chops and sausages, fried fish, liver, eggs and bacon. She could manage the basics, dishes she’d watched her mother make over the years, but her family’s Christmas dinners had been whatever the butcher could supply, cheap cuts, cooked long and slow in the oven.
‘I’ve got a chicken coming up from Home Farm,’ answered Marjorie. ‘Hope you don’t mind, Felix, I asked Donny Day to kill one. Mrs Darby’s going to pluck and draw it for us, but I thought Daphne might want to do the cooking.’
‘No,’ Daphne spoke firmly. ‘Ask Mrs Darby.’
She had been more than a little annoyed when Felix had told her that Mrs Darby was going to continue working for his mother.
‘But I can’t cook!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m a hopeless cook.’
‘Mother needs her and anyway, we can’t afford her.’ He grinned reassuringly at Daphne’s horrified expression. ‘And you can cook, you know you can, and now we’re living in the country, you’ll find far more food available than in town. We’ve eggs from Home Farm and grow our own vegetables, don’t forget, so there’s usually something extra to bring to the table.’
When they had first arrived, Felix had also decided that they could dispense with the services of Mrs Gurney.
‘You should continue to employ her, Felix,’ Marjorie said. ‘I don’t need her more than twice a week in this little house, so I’m sure she’ll be glad to come to you at the manor the other three days. Otherwise she’ll miss the money.’
‘I’m not a charitable trust, Mother,’ stated Felix. ‘I’m sorry if she’ll be missing some of her money, but I can’t afford to be giving her any of mine!’
‘I know,’ Marjorie said soothingly, ‘but it’s a big house for Daphne to run on her own, you know. I couldn’t manage it on my own, remember.’
It was the first time that Daphne had ever felt gratitude to her mother-in-law when, after further discussion, Felix relented and they finally agreed that Mavis Gurney should come two days to each house.
The first morning she arrived, she walked in through the back door, hanging her coat on a hook and shedding galoshes on the scullery floor as she shouted, ‘Morning, Mrs Felix.’
Daphne, who had not yet met her, came into the kitchen and found herself facing a tall woman, her ample bosom constrained in a cross-over apron, her hair tied up in what looked like a yellow duster. Broad-shouldered, her large forearms tapered to rough, capable hands. She stood, hands on hips, in the scullery doorway.
Daphne stared at her uncertainly. ‘Mrs Gurney?’
‘’S right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get on with what I usually do, shall I?’ Her expression darkened as she added, ‘Course, now you cut me hours, I won’t get as much done as what I used, but I ’spect you’ll be able to pick up what’s left.’
‘And—’ Daphne was horrified to hear her voice come out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and started again. ‘And what is it that you usually do?’
‘Four hours a day. I go home at one for me dinner.’
‘And the afternoons?’
Mrs Gurney folded her arms and raised her chin. ‘I don’t do afternoons.’
Trying not to be intimidated, Daphne said, ‘And you do what, in those hours?’
‘Mondays, I light the fire under the copper an’ put the wash on. Get it hung out if the weather’s kind. Clear the fireplaces, bring in the coal. Clean the kitchen and the scullery. Dust the hall and drawin’ room. Bring in the washing before I leave. Tuesdays, well now, Tuesdays I ain’t comin’ no more. Going to Mrs Bellinger at Eden Lodge. Wednesday I’ll do the upstairs and give the kitchen a quick once-over. That suit?’ This last was posed as a question, but Daphne could see that it wasn’t. Mrs Gurney had stated her terms, thinking that the new Mrs Felix would agree to anything to keep her.
‘Sounds fine,’ she said faintly. Then, giving herself a mental shake she asked, ‘What did you normally do the rest of the week?’
Mavis Gurney looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, ‘Tuesdays was ironing and cleaning silver. Thursdays was windows an’ floors. Fridays change the beds and if guests was coming prepare the guest rooms and then whisk right through the house ready for the weekend.’
‘I see,’ Daphne said and then added, ‘Where will you start today?’
‘Today’s Wednesday, so upstairs and spruce the kitchen.’
‘The thing is, Mrs Gurney,’ Daphne said, ‘we’re only using one room upstairs just now, so perhaps when you’ve done our room and the bathroom you could come down and do the drawing room today, as well as the kitchen.’
Mrs Gurney pursed her lips. ‘Suppose I could,’ she said grudgingly, ‘just this once. I don’t like having me routine changed.’ The two women stared at each other for several moments and to her own surprise it was Mavis who turned away, saying, ‘I better get on, then.’
Daphne left her to it and went into the study to find pencil and paper. She sat down and made a list of all the things Mrs Gurney was supposed to do on a Monday and Wednesday and another list of things she said she used to do on the other days.
When he came in for lunch, she showed them to Felix. ‘I don’t know what she used to do when, but it looks to me as if she’s picked the jobs she doesn’t mind doing and left me the others, the ones she doesn’t like. Ironing, cleaning windows, scrubbing floors, polishing the silver.’
‘Well, you’re employing her to do what you want done, not what she wants to do,’ pointed out Felix. ‘So, you tell her. Let’s face it, Daph, it’s no different to dealing with an insubordinate aircraftswoman, and you used to do that with your eyes shut. Have a chat with Mother and see what she says Mavis is supposed to do.’
‘She says it’s cos we’ve cut her hours.’
‘Call her bluff and tell her we’ll cut them some more if she doesn’t do what she’s asked.’
‘Suppose she calls our bluff?’ Daphne said.
‘She won’t, but if she does, well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.’
Christmas Day, falling on a Sunday, meant that Mrs Gurney was not due to put in another appearance at the manor until the following week. Daphne did as Felix suggested and went to see Marjorie.
‘Mrs Gurney isn’t the easiest,’ Marjorie said with a wry smile. ‘She was here this morning and I had to listen to her moaning about the shorter hours. But actually, she’s a good worker and she gets things done. Stand your ground, Daphne, tell her what you want her to do. She can’t afford to lose the job. Stick to what you want, but make a few concessions so that she thinks she’s got the better of you, and you’ll get on fine.’
Daphne knew it was good advice and she intended to take it when Mavis Gurney arrived the next Wednesday.
*
The following morning, Felix walked over to Charing Farm to retrieve his horses. John Shepherd greeted him cheerfully as he walked into the stable yard.
‘Felix!’ he cried. ‘Good to see you. I heard you’d arrived. Settling in all right?’
The two men shook hands and John led the way into the stables. When he opened the door the horses looked out with interest from their loose boxes. Felix crossed at once to Archie, his hunter, who whickered a welcome. ‘Hallo, boy,’ he said, gently stroking his nose. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’
‘The local hunt’s meeting here on Boxing Day,’ Felix told Daphne that evening. ‘John and Billy Shepherd will be going and I thought I’d ride out on Archie, give him a run.’
‘I thought you were going to sell the horses... since we’re “economising”.’
‘I shall sell Dad’s if I can find a buyer,’ Felix said, ‘but I’ll keep Archie.’
‘Just so you can go hunting, I suppose,’ sniffed Daphne.
‘No. Well, that too,’ conceded Felix, ‘but actually, I’ll be riding him round the estate.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll both enjoy the exercise and it means I shan’t need to use the car so much. We can save our petrol, so you’ll be able to use the car yourself if you need to.’
That’s more like it, Daphne thought. If keeping the horse meant that she was going to be able to use the car more often, she wasn’t going to argue. She’d found an old bicycle in one of the outhouses and had spent the afternoon cleaning it up, checking it over. She, like so many others, had used a bike continually during the war, and she’d been determined to have some means of transport to get out of the village. The bike had seemed her only option, but if Felix was intending to ride his horse everywhere, she could have the car.
‘So, what happens at this meet thing?’ she asked.
‘Everyone who wants to hunt with us is welcome. Most of the village turn out to see us off. It’s a great gathering.’
Felix and Daphne spent Christmas Day with Marjorie as planned and though Daphne had not been looking forward to it, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. In the morning, despite Daphne’s unwillingness, Felix had insisted that they both went to church.
‘Why do we have to go?’ she demanded petulantly. ‘I don’t believe in God... and nor do you!’
‘You don’t know what I believe,’ answered Felix mildly. ‘But that’s not the point here. We’ve come to live in the manor, my family home, and we have a position to maintain in the village. You want to be regarded as the lady of the manor and that demands certain behaviour, which, I’m afraid, includes going to church. It’s expected.’
‘Well, they’ll be disappointed.’
‘Daphne, we’re living here now. We have to become part of the village.’
‘Easy enough for you,’ muttered Daphne, ‘you was brought up here.’
‘Exactly,’ Felix said. ‘You’re going to have to make an effort.’ Seeing her mutinous expression he smiled and said, ‘Come on Daph, it’s only for an hour. Put your best bib and tucker on. It’s Christmas Day!’
Daphne sighed, but she went back upstairs and changed into one of the new outfits she’d bought when Felix was last away in Wynsdown, visiting his mother. She heard him say that money was going to be tight, and now that clothes rationing had been lifted, she’d decided to make the most of her last few weeks in London and add to her winter wardrobe. She had the bills sent to him.
The church was full when Daphne and Felix walked in just before the service began. Dressed in a smart green costume with a fur collar and a matching hat with a curled green feather, Daphne walked up the aisle on Felix’s arm, well aware of the interest she was stirring among the women of the congregation.
It was almost worth coming to see the envy on their faces as she, Mrs Felix Bellinger of The Manor, Wynsdown, joined her mother-in-law in the manor pew.
She paid little attention to the service, but she found she enjoyed singing the carols she’d learned as a child, so that when it was over and they led the congregation out of the church, she decided that perhaps Felix was right. She should show her face, and her clothes, to the village. Let them see who was squire now that the major had passed away, and who the squire’s lady. Not old Mrs Marjorie Bellinger, wearing a drab blue overcoat and tired felt hat, now residing at Eden Lodge, but young Mrs Daphne Bellinger, dressed in the latest fashions, living at the manor and taking her rightful place in the local community.
As always, after the service, the congregation gathered outside the church to chat and wish each other Merry Christmas. As the grown-ups greeted each other, the children rushed round the green, pleased to be released from the restraint of church, boasting of what Father Christmas had brought and what they hoped was still to come. Marjorie led Daphne and Felix over to a young couple, who were talking to the vicar’s wife. The woman was rocking a baby in a pram, and Daphne realised she looked vaguely familiar. Then she remembered the christening during the service that she and Felix had attended on their first visit. This was the mother of the baby. Not exactly plain, Daphne thought as they approached. Nice enough face, and thick dark hair, but straight, no style to it. If my hair was like that I’d be putting in curling papers every night. Surely, she could make much more of herself if she tried.
‘Daphne,’ Marjorie said as the couple turned towards them, ‘I want you to meet Charlotte and Billy. Billy’s family have Charing Farm, just across the hill, but Charlotte and he live in the village, so you’ll probably be seeing quite a lot of her. Charlotte, my dear, I don’t think you’ve met my daughter-in-law, Daphne.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Charlotte extended her hand. ‘How nice to meet you. I did meet your husband last time he was here and now Mrs Bellinger tells me you’re coming to live in the manor.’
‘Already moved in,’ said Daphne. ‘Still getting straight.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy in your new home,’ Charlotte said and then turned to greet Felix with a smile. ‘Merry Christmas, Felix,’ she said as she shook his hand. ‘Welcome home!’
‘Thank you.’ Felix returned her smile. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too. And it does feel like coming home.’
Billy stepped forward to meet Daphne and for him she turned on her brightest smile.
His face creased into a grin, his eyes warmly appraising. ‘How d’you do,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Wynsdown.’
Marjorie, watching, wondered how it was that some women, women like Daphne, had that effect on every man they met. Had Felix noticed, and if so did he mind?
At that moment Henry and Caroline Masters walked up and the conversation became general. Felix turned to Billy and asked, ‘You riding out with the hunt tomorrow, Mr Shepherd?’
‘Certainly am,’ said Billy, and for the first time looked at Felix with some warmth, before adding, ‘And it’s Billy. You called me Billy when I was a kid, no reason to change that now.’
‘Felix, then, since we’re going to be even closer neighbours than before. Hear you live in Blackdown House now; old Miss Edie’s place.’
‘It’s Charlotte’s house,’ replied Billy, ‘and we’re lucky to have it. So, you hunting tomorrow? Dad said you’d taken Archie back and that you might.’
‘Yes,’ replied Felix. ‘Looking forward to it. Will it be the first time you’ve taken your new horse out?’
‘Hunted him last year,’ replied Billy, ‘but it’ll be the first time this year.’
‘Beautiful horse,’ said Felix and was rewarded with a wide smile.
‘Isn’t he just?’
Over the table at lunch Marjorie said, ‘I’m glad you got the chance to meet Charlotte, Daphne. She’s such a nice woman. You know it was Charlotte who raised the alarm when Peter collapsed.’
‘No,’ answered Daphne, ‘I didn’t.’
‘She went for Dr Masters, but when she found he wasn’t there, she went to the vicarage and got them to ring for an ambulance.’
‘But why hadn’t you rung for an ambulance?’ asked Daphne.
‘I tried, of course, but our phone was out of order, I couldn’t even get through to the exchange. Peter was lying there on the floor; I was panicking and ran out to fetch the doctor. I saw Charlotte in the lane and she went instead. Anyway, living where we do, it’s nearly always better to call the doctor first. It takes some time for an ambulance to get here, you know, and at least he can do his best until the ambulance arrives.’
She took a sip of her wine. ‘I remember Dr Masters being called out to a wounded airman during the war. Legs shattered, in an awful mess. It was Billy and his father who rescued him from the tree where his parachute had caught. He was taken to Charing Farm as it was nearest, then Henry Masters was called. He did his best, but he reckoned the boy would lose one leg, maybe even both.’
‘How dreadful!’ cried Daphne. ‘Was he all right?’
‘We don’t really know,’ replied Marjorie, ‘he was shipped off under guard.’
‘Under guard?’
‘It was a German pilot, shot down after a raid on Weston.’
‘German!’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘Why didn’t they just shoot him?’
‘Because he was a wounded boy, hanging in a tree. He wasn’t a danger to anyone,’ replied Marjorie drily. ‘I’d like to think that if Felix had been shot down over enemy territory and wounded, someone would have done the same for him. Peter was the commanding officer of the local Home Guard. He had to deal with the remains of the plane. There were no other survivors. The lad was only very young and in great pain. They got Charlotte to come and interpret for them.’
‘Charlotte? Does she speak German, then?’
‘Charlotte is German,’ replied Marjorie. ‘By birth, anyway. She came to London as a refugee at the age of thirteen, but she’s naturalised British now, of course.’
Felix had listened to the whole story in silence, his face pale. He knew only too well that the German pilot’s fate could so easily have been his; so many of his friends had returned wounded and maimed, or not returned at all.
‘She promised the boy that she’d try and contact his parents through the Red Cross,’ Marjorie went on. ‘He told her his name and address before they took him away and Peter did his best to get Charlotte’s letter sent. There was no reply, of course, no way of even knowing if it got through. The last we heard of him he was being taken to hospital in Exeter.’
‘Where did the plane actually come down?’ Felix spoke at last.
‘In that worked-out quarry, near Newland,’ replied his mother. ‘Dad went over there, but it was burnt out. Three men, didn’t stand a chance. The lad on the end of the parachute was the lucky one.’
‘She didn’t sound German this morning.’ Daphne’s thoughts had been proceeding along entirely different tracks from those of Felix and his mother. ‘When I talked to her, she didn’t have an accent. Strange to find a German living here, in the village, so soon after the war.’
‘She’s been living in England for the last ten years, Daphne,’ Marjorie reminded her. ‘She’s married to an Englishman and her children were born here in the village. Charlotte doesn’t think of herself as German, and neither should you. The Nazis killed her entire family.’
‘Still—’ began Daphne.
‘Still nothing,’ snapped Felix. ‘Let’s change the subject.’
‘Good idea,’ agree his mother. ‘It’s not a subject for Christmas lunch. Will you pour us some more wine, Felix? I brought a couple of bottles over from the cellar at the manor, I didn’t think you’d mind.’
Felix picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses. He, too, had brought some wine from the cellar his father had laid down over the years and with the turn of the conversation he felt in need of another glass.
‘But, is she...’ Daphne seemed about to ignore the change of subject, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she received such a glare from Felix that she closed her mouth again and said nothing, simply picked up her wine glass, took a large mouthful and glowered back at him over the rim.
Ignoring her, and maintaining the change of subject, Felix said, ‘I think your Christmas tree looks really lovely, Mother.’
‘It does, doesn’t it,’ smiled Marjorie. ‘I got it from Cheddar. There’s a man there who’s been planting them... you know... as a crop. It gave me an idea. Is that something you might do? Grow Christmas trees?’
Felix shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Dad had planted some trees for timber, but that’s very long-term. Be worth looking into it, I suppose.’
The meal finished, Marjorie made coffee and they all moved into her drawing room. Still a drawing room, Daphne noted, despite it being half the size of the one at the manor.
‘We’re to leave all the clearing up till tomorrow,’ Marjorie had explained. ‘Mrs Darby says she’ll come in again first thing to wash up.’
They listened to the King on the radio, but as soon as they’d had tea and some of Mrs Darby’s special Christmas cake, Daphne suggested that it was time for them to be going. It was clear that Marjorie had hoped they’d stay a little longer, but she made no demur when Felix finally allowed himself to be dislodged from the armchair by the fire, and after the business of hats and coats, they set out to walk home. As they passed the vicarage, Avril Swanson waved from the window, and irrationally, Felix felt as if he’d let his mother down by returning home before the end of the day. He might well have felt so even more if he’d known that Avril had immediately phoned Eden Lodge to invite Marjorie to join her and David and the Masters for a supper of cold ham and potatoes in their jackets. Marjorie declined, but it warmed her heart that she’d been invited. She was disappointed that Felix and Daphne hadn’t stayed a little longer, but she could understand that they wanted to get back to their own fireside and have a little piece of Christmas, just the two of them. It’s what she’d have wanted with Peter in similar circumstances.
The manor was cold when they got in and Felix spent the first twenty minutes lighting fires in the drawing room and their bedroom. He drew the curtains against the night, so that when they finally went upstairs, the room would be warm and welcoming. They were still sleeping in what had been the guest room. He’d promised Daphne that they’d move into the main bedroom as soon as they’d sorted out some more furniture, and in the meantime, she had to admit, to herself if not to him, that the green guest room was a good deal warmer.
‘I wish you wouldn’t side with your mother against me,’ she grumbled, when, with another glass of wine, they were indeed sitting at their own fireside.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Felix.
‘I mean, if your mother and I disagree, you shouldn’t take her side against me.’
‘Did I?’ Felix was surprised. ‘What about?’
‘About the German girl.’
‘What about her?’
‘That it’s strange to find an enemy alien in our little village community. Your mother didn’t seem to think it odd at all, and when I was asking about her, you glared at me and said to change the subject.’
‘Oh, that. Well, to be quite honest, I was fed up with that conversation altogether. It was Christmas lunch. I didn’t want to be hearing about finding my father dead on the floor, or about German pilots being burned alive in their crashed plane, or about the fact that Charlotte Shepherd is German. Yes, I tried to shut you up, but I was shutting my mother up as well. Let’s face it, Daph. You saw our boys coming home with absolutely dreadful injuries; you saw them with wrecked bodies and wrecked lives. All that could have happened to me. I wouldn’t wish those injuries on anybody, enemy or not, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss it over Christmas lunch.’
It wasn’t often Felix spoke to her like that and Daphne said no more. She made them cheese sandwiches for supper and then Felix said, ‘I’m just going out to the stable to see that Archie’s all right. It’s a big day for him tomorrow.’
‘What is?’ For a moment Daphne looked at him blankly and then light dawned. ‘Oh, you mean the hunt. Well, I just hope you don’t kill yourself, that’s all. I’m going to go on up.’
‘I won’t be long,’ Felix said.
By the time he came back into the house, Daphne was undressed and in bed. She knew he would want to make love and couldn’t think of a reason to deny him. It wasn’t too bad these days and she’d developed a strategy for dealing with it. She’d always had an eye for an attractive man even though she’d kept them at arm’s length and now, when Felix began to touch her in the bedroom, she would imagine it was someone else, someone attractive but non-threatening; someone who she knew and could imagine stroking her breasts and caressing her thighs. Anyone but Felix. Why she could cope with the idea of someone other than he, she didn’t know, but provided she visualised another face poised above her, other eyes looking down into hers, she managed not to pull away, and even, on occasion, derived some satisfaction from the encounter. On one occasion in London she’d thought of Toby Squires, she’d always found him attractive. Tonight she found herself thinking of Billy Shepherd, whom she’d only met today. He was tall and his face with its generous mouth and wide blue eyes made him so entirely different from Felix. Fair curly hair springing in disorder, rather than straight dark hair cut close and smoothed against the head; so not Felix that it gave her quite a frisson. With her eyes shut she pictured Billy Shepherd, and reached a shuddering climax. Felix, satisfied at last that he’d reached her, his Daphne, came a moment later, and they both fell asleep, their bodies close, but their dreams a mile apart.