1

March 1942

Flora Neville looked around her, taking in the busy Margate branch of Joe Lyons’ teashop and her daughter, Rose, handing out instructions to two young waitresses. Her heart almost burst with pride as she thought of Rose’s achievements since starting work as a young Nippy at the Ramsgate branch. Now here she was, a manageress and a married woman to boot.

The Margate tearoom was spread over several floors, with a veranda where diners could gaze out over the beautiful sands when the weather was good. The main dining room was awash with beautiful chandeliers and highly polished brass fittings that gleamed on the oiled wooden counters. Close to the door was a counter where shoppers were able to purchase bread, pies, biscuits, cakes and tea. Joe Lyons kept his tearooms well stocked even though there was a war on.

‘Mum, what a lovely surprise,’ Rose said, coming across the room. ‘Why are you here? Not that I’m not glad to see you,’ she hastily added, as Flora was shown to a table by the window.

‘I’m meeting Ruth. It seems she is in the area on business and she invited me to have lunch with her. Here she is now.’ Flora waved in the direction of the door, where a glamorous woman had entered and was looking around.

‘I’ll have someone serve you,’ Rose said after greeting her sister-in-law. She wondered why Ruth hadn’t mentioned she would be visiting their seaside town. Ruth worked as a secretary in London, where she lived with her mother, Lady Diana.

‘Do come and join us for coffee if you can. This is just a flying visit,’ Ruth said, as if reading Rose’s mind.

‘I’ll try,’ Rose promised. ‘I must keep an eye on a couple of trainees, and we are rather short staffed today. So many of the women are now doing war work; it pays so much better than working here,’ she sighed before hurrying away.

‘Rose looks tired,’ Ruth said as she removed her gloves and picked up the menu. ‘I simply adore dining here; it’s so different from the kind of places I’m usually taken to. Shall we have the Spam fritters, or perhaps fried fish?’ she asked, running her finger down the main courses.

Flora smiled at her. Apart from speaking posh and wearing wonderful clothes, there were no airs or graces about Ruth Hargreaves. She was the spit of her mother, Diana, and Flora loved them both dearly. ‘I’ll have the same as you,’ she said, hoping Ruth didn’t choose the Spam fritters, as she’d made them for her guests at Sea View yesterday. There again, they were tasty, and it wasn’t as if she had to cook them herself this time.

Ruth didn’t reply; her gaze had moved to the window and she was looking out to sea, apparently deep in thought.

‘A penny for them?’ Flora asked.

Ruth frowned as she turned her attention back to Flora. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A penny for your thoughts; you seemed miles away for a moment there, although it is lovely to sit and look out over the beach. I asked for this table because it has such a wonderful view.’

‘That’s so kind of you . . . no, I was thinking about work, that’s all. Shall we order?’ Ruth asked, as a Nippy in her smart black and white uniform arrived at their table, pencil in hand.

Flora wasn’t fooled. Ruth was always quick to tell them she was just a simple secretary working in a boring office, but Flora had often thought there must be more to the girl than that.

‘Tell me, is Anya on duty today?’ Ruth asked, looking towards the counter where the staff known as Sallys sold baked goods.

Flora checked the dainty watch on her wrist. ‘She should be here any time now. She only works part time since giving birth to her son; she fits her work hours around Joyce Hannigan, who cares for him when not at work herself.’

‘Is there anyone living at Sea View who doesn’t work?’ Ruth chuckled before giving their order to the Nippy. ‘Fried fish and chips, I think, and a large pot of tea. Real seaside food,’ she said, again looking out to sea.

‘The view was so much better before the war and the beach defences,’ Flora sighed. ‘I can’t wait for the day our children can play on the sand again and holidaymakers return to Thanet. There was always something special about having visitors for a week or two. I know I have my permanent guests, but . . .’

‘You want your life to return to normal,’ Ruth finished her sentence.

‘Do you think it ever will?’ Flora asked as the Nippy appeared with a tea tray. She helped the young woman place the items onto the table before thanking her.

‘We will damn well try,’ Ruth assured her, again making Flora wonder about the part Ruth played in the war.

The women tucked into their meal, making small talk until the door opened and in walked Anya, the Polish woman who had resided at Sea View since escaping her country in search of her pilot husband, Henio. Ruth’s eyes lit up.

‘Did you wish to have a word with Anya?’ Flora asked, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘I’m not daft,’ Flora grinned. ‘I’ll fetch her for you and then go have a word with Rose in her office.’

‘Thank you; ten minutes should be enough.’

Flora left the table and hurried to the staffroom, where Anya was removing her coat. ‘Ruth would like a word with you,’ she said quietly, not wishing the other staff to hear.

Anya looked hopeful. ‘Does she have news of my Henio?’

‘I don’t know; I’ll tell Rose you will be a little late to your workstation,’ Flora said, patting the worried woman on the arm. She’d had more than a soft spot for the girl from Poland ever since she’d rescued her when Anya had been chased by young lads throwing stones and calling her a German spy.

‘Please do sit down,’ Ruth said as Anya approached. ‘There’s tea in the pot if you would like some?’ she added, putting her hand on the teapot to check the heat.

Anya waved her hand to dismiss her offer. ‘You have news of my Henio?’

Ruth was expecting this question. Even though she had no knowledge of personnel movements, she’d been able to find Henio’s whereabouts once before by pulling strings among her colleagues and friends. She couldn’t afford to upset Anya. ‘I’m putting out feelers; rest assured no stone will go unturned in order to find him.’

If truth be known, she had no idea where Henio was since his plane had gone down over France; she doubted it would be good news, as it wasn’t often pilots were lucky enough to escape from the German-occupied territory more than once. For Anya’s sake she hoped Henio was safe, but time alone would tell. She looked at the dark-haired woman with high cheekbones, who was gazing at her directly. Anya’s eyes seemed to bore through her.

‘Then why do you wish to talk to me? I have bread to sell,’ Anya said, turning towards the queue building up by the counter.

‘I need your help.’

‘Then speak, before I am dismissed for being away from my workstation.’

‘I can’t speak to you here. I wonder . . . would you come to my office?’

A puzzled expression crossed Anya’s face. ‘In London? Where you are . . . a secretary?’

Ruth smiled. ‘Yes, in London. I can arrange a travel pass and someone will meet you at Victoria station to escort you.’

‘Does this have something to do with the war?’

Ruth looked about her. They were always being warned that walls have ears. She couldn’t believe that this Lyons teashop on the Kent coast could be a dangerous place, but then, one could never be too careful. ‘I’m not at liberty to say. I can explain more when we meet.’

Anya remained silent for several seconds before giving Ruth a brief nod. ‘If Rose gives permission for me to leave my job for the afternoon, then I will say yes.’

‘I’ll square it with Rose,’ Ruth promised as Anya pushed her chair back to leave. ‘There is one thing. Can you . . .’

‘I’ll keep it mum,’ Anya said curtly, before rising and leaving Ruth alone.

Ruth poured a cup of lukewarm tea, smiling to herself. She only hoped that when Anya learned what was expected of her, she would indeed ‘keep mum’, as lives depended upon it.

‘What’s going on, Mum?’ Rose asked, watching through the small window of her office as Ruth and Anya were talking. ‘I doubt Ruth is offering to knit an outfit for young Alexsy.’

‘I don’t know, but it’s unlikely Ruth is here for a social visit. I used to think she was a rich butterfly flitting from party to party, but these days . . .’

Rose agreed. ‘I like her a lot but . . .’

‘Still waters run deep?’

Rose chuckled. ‘Let’s not think about it too much. Hopefully Ruth has heard something about Henio’s disappearance. She tends to move in circles where people know such things. How long has it been now?’

‘Hmm; it must be fifteen months, as he knew Anya was expecting but went missing before the baby was born,’ Flora said sadly.

‘I don’t know how Anya copes. I know I’d be in pieces if that was my Ben. That’s why I’m pleased we’ve decided to put off having children until this beastly war is over.’

Flora wanted nothing more than to see Rose and Ben with their own children; it had been a while since they went to stay with Lady Diana in Scotland. ‘Don’t leave it too late, you never know what is going to happen,’ she said, expecting the familiar outburst.

‘Oh, Mum, we’ve had this conversation so many times. If anything should happen to Ben, I will remember him not as the father of my children but as the thoughtful, loving man he was. No number of children would change that. Besides, I could always adopt, like you have,’ she smiled, thinking of young Daisy, who was loved and spoilt rotten by everyone who lived at Sea View guesthouse.

‘Darling, that’s different and you know it,’ Flora said, thinking back to when she had pulled the little girl from a bombed-out house. Daisy had been the only survivor of an air raid close to their guesthouse in Ramsgate.

‘You’re right. But believe me, there will be grandchildren aplenty for you and Ben’s mother when the time is right.’

‘Let’s hope that whoever makes the decisions in this universe falls in with your plans,’ Flora said good-naturedly.

‘I’ve had a letter from Ben,’ Rose said, reaching into her desk drawer.

Flora looked at her daughter’s radiant face. ‘I hope he is safe?’

Rose opened the envelope and handed the letter to her mum.

Flora was shocked. ‘Oh no, I can’t read your personal correspondence,’ she said, flapping away the letter.

Rose giggled and held it up. ‘There is so much the censor has crossed out that I can’t make head nor tail of much of it. He sends his love to everyone and is doing his utmost to keep well; apart from that, your guess is as good as mine. However, I will cherish it,’ she sighed, holding the letter close to her heart before putting it safely back in the drawer.

‘Make sure you take it home with you,’ Flora said as she got to her feet. ‘It looks as though Ruth has finished her chat. I’d best go back and finish my lunch. Will you come to mine for your dinner this evening rather than go home to an empty house?’

‘I’d love to. I have something for Daisy and want to see her face when she opens it.’

‘Then stay the night and we can have a good catch up,’ Flora said, giving Rose a kiss on the cheek. ‘I do like your perfume,’ she added, sniffing the air close to her daughter.

‘Ben sent it to me for our wedding anniversary. It seems strange to think we’ve yet to enjoy a Christmas as husband and wife.’

‘There will be plenty more for you to enjoy once this war is over,’ Flora said as she made to leave the office, praying she wasn’t tempting fate with her comment.

‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a fresh pot of tea and possibly a bowl of jelly and custard,’ Ruth said as she took a menu from a hovering waitress. ‘By the way, do you have any idea why these delightful waitresses are called Nippies?’ she asked as the girl took down their order.

‘No, I’m sorry, I have no idea,’ the young girl blushed. ‘I’m new here.’

Flora gave her a sympathetic smile; no doubt Rose was too busy these days to tell her new staff the story. She would have to remind her to do so. ‘It is a simple story. A while ago, well-to-do women would call all their female servants “Gladys” because it was easier than remembering names,’ she said apologetically, looking towards Ruth.

‘Goodness, some of my mother’s friends still do that,’ Ruth exclaimed.

‘Lyons decided to run a competition to give a more suitable name to their waitresses and the most popular was “Nippy”, as the women were forever nipping about between tables. That was when your uniform was designed,’ she smiled to the young girl. ‘And very smart you look, too.’

The girl blushed again. ‘I much prefer to be called a Nippy as Gladys was my grandmother’s name,’ she said, before thanking Flora for the information and hurrying away.

‘You learn something new every day,’ Ruth said, stubbing out her cigarette before lighting another from her fancy gold lighter. Her hands were shaking slightly.

‘Did you have a nice chat with Anya?’ Flora asked, too impatient to wait for Ruth to say anything.

The smile left Ruth’s face as if she had suddenly shut down. ‘I just wanted to know how she was coping, nothing more,’ she said.

Flora remained silent but nodded her head knowingly as Ruth looked away, unable to hold her gaze.

‘This damnable war,’ Ruth whispered as again she looked out at the sea. ‘Will it ever end . . .?’

Flora reached across the table and patted the younger woman’s hand. ‘Any time you need a friendly ear, you know where I am.’

Ruth remained silent as she reached for her handbag. Removing a gold powder compact, she checked her reflection before dabbing the tip of her nose. ‘That’s better,’ she smiled.

‘You may prefer not to answer but I do mean what I say. You are part of my family since your brother married my Rose, and for me, that means I’ll be here for you night or day,’ Flora assured her. ‘Promise me you’ll never forget that.’

Ruth nodded her head, but wouldn’t be drawn. ‘Oh, good, here comes our pudding.’