7

Flora had helped Miss Tibbs to her bedroom and settled her comfortably there, with her knitting near to hand and her private wireless set tuned in to Workers’ Playtime. All the hours they’d recently been spending down the tunnels had tired the old lady out. Then she returned to the kitchen to clear away the last of the supper items. Rose had taken little Daisy out for a walk between the sudden rain showers and Flora had just decided it was the ideal time to settle down and read The People’s Friend, when she heard a knock at the door.

If it had been Ruth returning with Mildred, her lodger would have used her own key; and they were more likely to have entered through the kitchen entrance via the small back garden. No, it was most likely Ruth’s driver turning up as expected, ready to collect her and drive her back to London. With a reluctant glance at her unread magazine, Flora went to the front door, conscious of a faint flutter of apprehension that she firmly repressed. She resisted the impulse to remove her functional apron and tidy her hair at the mirror.

‘All right, I’m coming,’ she called out as the driver knocked for a second time. ‘For two pins I’d make you wait out there in the rain,’ she sighed as he started to knock again. Turning off the hall light before pulling back the blackout curtain, she opened the door, glaring at the man on the doorstep.

‘That’s no way to welcome an old friend,’ a familiar voice said.

Flora sighed as she took in the sight of him standing in the miserable early evening gloom. ‘John. I did wonder if it might be you coming to collect Ruth.’

‘None other,’ he said as he stepped over the threshold.

Flora looked up at him standing in her doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. Even in the poor light she could make out the colours of his brown hair and warm hazel eyes. Her heart was already starting to melt, and she reprimanded herself for being so weak. ‘You’d best get yourself inside so I can draw the curtain and turn on the light,’ she said, turning her eyes away.

She wasn’t sure if she was angry with John, or simply disappointed that the friendship they’d had at one time had petered away and they’d never spoken since. ‘Come down into the kitchen and dry yourself off. It’s warmer there,’ she said, ushering him ahead of her. She did pull off her apron and run her fingers through her hair, telling herself she’d have done the same whoever the visitor had been.

John crossed over to the stove to warm himself. ‘You’d have thought the weather would be warming up a bit by now,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

‘It was chilly down the tunnels today,’ Flora replied, going through the motions of laying out her best cups and teapot rather than look him in the face and put into words the question she’d wanted to ask him for over a year. ‘Sit yourself down,’ she said, nodding towards the armchair set by the coal fire stove while she carried the tea tray to the table, taking a seat as far away from him as possible.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the coals as they settled in the stove. The air seemed thick with unsaid words.

‘Look, Flora . . . I meant to contact you, I really did. Then, as time moved on, I . . . I . . .’

‘You thought it would be better to keep away? I thought we were friends, John. Even if you no longer cared for me, didn’t we still have a good friendship?’ Flora looked at him properly for the first time, noting the lines around his eyes and a face that was thinner than she remembered. ‘You know I picked the telephone up endless times, thinking of ringing you, before putting it down again. Think how that made me feel – a woman running after a man. Women aren’t supposed to do that. You could have said you didn’t care . . . if you couldn’t face me, a note would have sufficed,’ she managed, before her throat started to constrict and the words refused to come. She picked up the teapot and poured their tea, her hand shaking so violently that the hot liquid slopped into the saucers.

‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking it from her and filling the cups before pouring milk. ‘Just as you like it,’ he smiled, sliding the cup and saucer towards her.

‘You remembered that at least.’

‘Please, Flora, I can explain. Let me do that,’ he begged, impulsively moving down from the armchair to kneel in front of her.

‘After all this time? Let’s just leave it, eh?’ she asked, feeling her heart flutter at his closeness. ‘Let’s just say hello when we bump into each other and leave it at that . . .’

‘Oh, this damned war,’ he said as he reached out to her.

‘We’re home,’ Rose called from the back door. Entering along with Daisy, she made enough of a commotion for John to get safely back up and return to the chair by the stove, where he picked up his tea.

Daisy rushed to hug Flora while Rose beamed at John. ‘Hello, stranger, long time no see. Is there any more tea in that pot? I know, I’ll make a fresh one,’ she said as she tuned in to the highly strung atmosphere in the room. ‘Daisy, tell Mummy what we’ve been up to. We’ve had such fun watching the boats in the harbour until the rain started, then we hurried to the teashop and had a milkshake each.’

‘Toast,’ Daisy said shyly, watching John while holding onto Flora’s arm.

‘Katie gave her some buttered toast; it was such a treat.’

‘She’s grown,’ John said, smiling down at the child.

‘It happens with children if you don’t see them for a while,’ Flora answered, noticing how shocked Rose looked at hearing her speak so sharply. ‘John is here to collect Ruth; she’s gone over to the Margate teashop to see Anya.’

John stood up, preparing to go. ‘It would be best if I collected her from there, but thank you for the tea. It was good to see you again, Flora.’

‘No, wait,’ Flora said, causing him to stop in his tracks and look at her with hope in his eyes.

‘What I mean is . . . don’t go . . . Mildred will no doubt be driving Ruth back by now and you may miss her.’

‘Mum’s right,’ Rose said. ‘Here, have a fresh cup of tea and warm yourself; you look drenched to the skin.’

It was only then that Flora noticed John was still wearing his wet coat. ‘I’m sorry, I should have dried your coat for you. Give it here and I’ll lay it over the back of a chair. It won’t take long to dry in front of the stove.’

As she draped the coat over the chair it was all she could do not to hold it against her face, breathing in the smell of John’s tobacco and his shaving soap. Why, oh why, did he have to come back into her life, if only for a couple of hours? She’d done her best to forget him after being rejected, and now here he was and all the old feelings of longing had returned.

‘Damn you, John Bentley,’ she murmured to herself.

‘Mum, whatever is going on?’ Rose asked later, after John had left with Ruth. ‘I’ve never seen you look so distraught. You’ve never really said why he disappeared from your life; I thought perhaps the pair of you had decided to remain friends and not pursue a romance . . .?’

Flora held her arms out to Rose for a hug, and Rose held her mother tight.

‘My goodness, I feel better for that,’ Flora said after a few moments, taking a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan to wipe her eyes. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be the mother comforting her daughter, not the other way round?’

Rose was a little tearful herself; she didn’t like to see her mum so distressed. She led her over to an armchair before sitting on the arm and stroking Flora’s head. ‘Tell me all about it, please.’

‘There’s really nothing to tell you. It was as if he vanished. We had that lovely Christmas and your wedding – after that, I never saw him again. As you know, when Ben’s mother came to stay, she travelled by train and didn’t require a driver; John was never mentioned. You know me, I’m not one to force myself on people, and let’s face it, at my age I’m rather long in the tooth for romance. Perhaps he found someone else, someone younger. I plucked up the courage to ring him several times, but I always ended up putting the receiver down before anyone answered. I feel such a fool.’

‘Oh, Mum, you’re not a fool. You are just a woman who fell in love; and don’t say otherwise,’ Rose added.

‘Let’s forget all about him, shall we?’ Flora said, forcing a smile onto her face.

‘If you say so,’ Rose replied, although she felt John had been good for her mum and would have liked nothing more than to see them as a couple. He had seemed strong and dependable, and that was something to be admired. He was hardworking, too, running his own garage and also chauffeuring Lady Diana. Rose decided she would leave it for now and have a word with Ben whenever she saw him; he and John Bentley were good friends, so he might have an idea of what was going on. ‘Now,’ she said to her mum, ‘tell me what was so important that Ruth had to go rushing off to Margate to speak with Anya? Surely she could have waited for her to come home at the end of her shift. Do you happen to know what’s going on yet?’

Flora fell silent.

‘Mum?’

Flora shrugged her shoulders; it had been a tiring day. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. Let’s leave it for now, eh?’

‘If you say so; but I’m going to ask Mildred if she knows anything. After all, she drove Ruth to Margate and back. I’ll go and ask her right now, before she either turns in for the night or goes off fishing. She keeps such odd hours of late. Do you think she’s up to something?’

‘Like what?’ Flora asked, too drained to give much thought to Rose’s question. ‘It’s her occupation and she works with the tides.’

‘I don’t know . . . perhaps she’s dabbling in the black market, or up to no good?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you have such fanciful thoughts at times,’ laughed Flora.

‘I’ll ask her all the same. I’m glad I made you laugh, though.’

‘I’m glad too, darling.’

‘It’s only me, Mildred. Can you spare a couple of minutes?’ Rose asked, tapping on Mildred’s bedroom door.

‘Come along in,’ Mildred said as she opened the door dressed in a flowing Japanese kimono. ‘There’s no need to look at me like that. Just because I own and work on a fishing boat, it doesn’t mean I can’t dress like a woman sometimes. This was given to me by a good friend many years ago . . .’ She held out the silky fabric and began twirling around, then staggered against her bed. ‘Oops!’

Rose didn’t know whether to laugh or be shocked; she’d never seen Mildred act this way. ‘Have you been drinking? And what’s all this on your bed?’ she asked, looking at a heap of clothes and other items strewn across the counterpane. As a rule, Mildred’s room was as spick and span as her boat, with a place for everything and everything in its place. The single bed was always made, and a small bookcase held well-thumbed copies of the classics. On the walls were oil paintings of coastal views.

‘I may have had a little something,’ Mildred said, picking up a bottle of brandy from her dressing table. ‘Would you care for a tipple?’

‘Oh, why not . . . it would finish the day off nicely. Can I help you put this all away? Otherwise you’ll never be able to get into bed.’

‘I’m having a sort out; I should’ve done it ages ago. Much of this will have to go,’ Mildred said, putting a hand on her hip as she surveyed the heap of clothing.

‘Whatever made you decide to have a sort out this late in the day?’

Mildred shrugged her shoulders. ‘I felt it was time to sort out my life.’

‘Has anything happened? . . . You’re not ill, are you?’

Mildred almost choked as she started to laugh and couldn’t stop. ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle!’

‘But all of this . . .’ Rose said, pointing to the mess in what was normally a tidy room.

‘I’ve decided I want to travel light from now on, in case . . .’

‘In case what?’

‘In case someone has to clear up after me when I’m no longer here,’ Mildred replied as she spied a small pile of freshly laundered overalls. ‘These I do need to keep.’

‘But you’re not that old; what are you, fifty, fifty-one?’

‘I’m fifty-eight. But it’s not the years you have to count, but how you feel inside. Why, I’m no more than thirty-six in my head.’

Rose shook her head. ‘I have no idea what you’re up to, but if I can help then please do ask me. You know, Mum can pass on any clothing you no longer need; with so many people being bombed out, the WVS is only too glad of clothing to distribute.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind. Now, what did you want to see me about? I’m not daft; you don’t usually visit me in my room,’ Mildred grinned as she poured a drink for them both before clearing a place for Rose to sit down.

‘Mum and I are worried about Anya . . .’

‘It seems to me you worry too much.’

Rose ignored Mildred’s jibe. ‘She seems so out of sorts of late. At first, we wondered if she might have had bad news of Henio; but then we’ve noticed Ruth has been to see her a few times. We’re starting to think something odd is going on and Ruth might be involved, but none of it makes much sense . . .’

Mildred began picking up items of clothing from the heap on the bed and folding them. She didn’t say a word.

‘I wondered . . . as you drove Ruth to the Margate teashop this afternoon, whether she might have said anything . . . about Anya, I mean . . .’

‘Have you asked Anya?’

‘No . . . she’s not home from her late shift yet. It’s hard to know what to ask her. She seems to hold her cards so close to her chest.’

‘I suggest you speak to her directly, because if I say anything, I may be betraying a confidence. And don’t even ask,’ Mildred added, seeing a light in Rose’s eye.

‘Well, Mum will have to talk to her. I need to sort out my own pile of laundry for the morning. Goodness, there’s always so much to do; I never seem to catch up.’ Rose stood up to go. ‘Good luck with your sorting out,’ she said, glancing again at the mess on the bed.

Mildred was thoughtful as she watched Rose leave the room.

‘May I have a word, Flora, if it is not too late?’ Anya asked as she returned to Sea View later that evening.

‘Of course you can. Would you like a hot drink?’ Flora asked, starting to get up from the armchair where she sat knitting a cardigan for Lily’s daughter, Mary.

‘No, not for me. I am full up to here with tea and coffee,’ Anya said, waving her hand up to her forehead. ‘You look tired, Flora. Has it been a long day for you also?’

‘You could say that,’ Flora replied, trying not to recall John standing on her doorstep and how much her heart had ached at the sight of him. ‘What is it you would like to talk to me about?’

‘I may have to go away for a while, to London,’ Anya said, ‘but I’m unable to take Alexsy with me. I would like to arrange for him to be looked after.’

‘Alexsy will be well cared for with us, for as long as you need him to be.’

‘No,’ Anya said abruptly. ‘I have given this much thought and, with there being much bombing in London, I need to make long-term plans in case my Henio never returns and something happens to me. I feel Alexsy should go to Katie as she will have the time to bring him up as her own son . . . he would be my gift to her and Jack,’ she said, looking away from Flora so as not to show the tears that were threatening.

‘Oh, Anya . . . I don’t know what to say. Of course, Katie would make the perfect mother for Alexsy, even if only for a week or so. May I ask what you will be doing while you’re away?’ Flora asked.

Anya pulled herself together and looked Flora in the eye. ‘I will be doing some work for Joe Lyons, training the Sallys.’

All kinds of questions occurred to Flora in response to this. Why had Rose, as Anya’s manager, not seemed to be aware of any such plan? And did the Sallys, the women who served at the teashops selling bakery items, really need such dedicated training that staff would be relocated in order to provide it? At that moment, though, it seemed best not to confront Anya with any of this.

‘I will help all I can,’ she said. ‘Be assured Alexsy will be in safe hands. Your room will be kept for you and please don’t worry about the rent. Whatever you are doing, we want you to come back to us safe and sound.’

For the first time since the two women had known each other, they hugged, both of them knowing there were secrets that could never be shared.