Chapter Three

Ruth Stone, owner and editor of the local newspaper, the Hamble Gazette, was having a trying day. They’d run out of ink that morning, and she’d spent till noon telephoning around to get more. FinallyOnly she had pinned some down, though she wasn’t happy about how much the price had gone up since the last time she’d stocked up. Biting the bullet, she’d bought enough to last six months this time, instead of her usual three.

Ruth decided a cup of tea would be well in order, but when she tried to get to her feet, she found she couldn’t. Massaging her thighs, she muttered, “Didn’t think I’d been sitting down that long.” When she looked down, she found the real reason she couldn’t get up. Fast asleep upon both her feet was Bobby, her black-and-white cocker spaniel. “You know,” she told him, shifting one foot and then the other in an effort to move her beloved dog, “if those people at the station could see you now, they’d have a hard time reconciling you with your image as the station’s hero.”

Bobby half opened one eye in response to this criticism, though in deference to this person being his major source of food, he did deign to roll off her feet, falling promptly back asleep. His legs began twitching as he chased who-knew-what in his dreams. To look at him, you’d hardly credit that back in mid-nineteen-forty-two he’d raised the alarm—undoubtedly saving many lives—just before two tip-and-run raiders bombed RAF Hamble. Ever since, Jane had given him the run of the station and, in spite of wartime rations, he’d put on quite a bit of weight. Whenever anyone there ran into him and had anything edible on them, treats were willingly given in homage to their hero.

“Care for a cuppa, podge?” Ruth asked her dog, who merely let out a whimper and then a loud snore. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” she told him, smiling.

She’d managed to coax her legs, pins and needles and all, to life and was trying to steady her gait when she was nearly run over by her reporter—her friend and now her lodger, Walter Johnson—as he barreled up from the archives in the basement, his forward view obscured by a pile of old newspapers. She managed to stop just in time.

“Walter, you under there?” she asked.

“Ruth? Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Well, obviously,” Ruth replied, taking a step back to allow Walter to come fully up the stairs and then shut the door behind him. “What’s all this?” she tapped the top paper he’d dumped onto his desk.

Unconsciously swiping a hand across his wayward hair, Walter collapsed into his seat, nearly tipping over backward before grabbing the edge of his desk and saving his dignity. “Hoping for ideas.”

“Ideas. For what?”

“Some place Doris and I can go on honeymoon,” he replied.

“Really?” Ruth said, giving the pile a quick flick. She perched on the edge of her desk and looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Can you see the hole in your logic?”

Walter frowned, his gaze flicking between the pile of newspapers and Ruth while he tried to work out what she meant. He shook his head, “Nope. You’re going to have to help me,” he finally admitted.

Ruth picked up the top newspaper and held it, front toward Walter. “It’s a very good idea, but these are all the ones we’ve printed. Everything’s local. So, unless you plan on having your honeymoon within about a twenty-mile radius, you may need to think again.”

Walter’s face dropped. “Oh, bug…”

“Why not go and make a cuppa?” she suggested. “Then, we’ll put our heads together and have another think, eh?”

Ten minutes later, Walter had fruitlessly flicked through a dozen or so copies of past newspapers, coming to the same conclusion as the one that had immediately hit Ruth. Letting his head fall onto the pile before him, he muttered, “I’m a dead man.”

Ruth was puzzled. “I thought Doris was going to choose where to go.”

“She was,” he replied, peeling a page from his forehead, “but I wanted to surprise her.”

“Well, you’d be sure of that if you managed to find a suitable place from going through that lot.” Ruth laughed.

Walter managed a weak smile and picked up his cup, taking a quick sip. “She’s taken on everything, you see, and what with all the time her flying takes up, I want to take some of the work off her shoulders if I can.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you,” Ruth told him. “Does she know?”

“Of course.” He nodded vigorously. “You know what she’s like. I wouldn’t dare to do something for the wedding without running it by her first.”

“Quite wise,” Ruth told him approvingly. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Walter shook his head. “Not a one. I suppose you heard about her idea about buying a cottage up in Scotland?”

“I did. From a purely selfish stance, I fully approve!”

Walter looked out the front door, as if he expected to see Doris appear and begin to quiz him. “Between the two of us, I do too.”

Ruth leant forward, puzzled. “Then please explain to me, why don’t you let her? I thought you’d come to terms with her having money.”

“I have,” he hurried to assure her. “Honest. And if she did, I’d probably love it and wouldn’t have any problems with any of our friends using the place.”

“So why not let her?” Ruth repeated.

“Let me see if I can explain,” Walter said, before sitting back and taking a longer sip from his drink. “The best reason I can give is that, during these times, it seems a bit ostentatious. Does that make sense?”

Ruth didn’t need time to think about what he’d told her. “Complete sense. And you’ve told her?”

“Certainly.”

“And she’s accepted your reason?”

“After a little bit of an argument, yes.”

“And was that when you told her you’d find somewhere to honeymoon?” Ruth asked.

Walter nodded.

“And are you regretting that offer now?” Ruth guessed.

Walter now let his head drop a little before replying, “You could put it that way.”

Chuckling a little, Ruth shook her head. “You know you’re going to have to talk to her about this, don’t you?”

Letting his head drop lower, Walter nodded again. “I know. It’s just that I really wanted to do this for her!”

Ruth picked up her cup and finished it off before trying a different tack. “Think of it this way. I think she’ll love and appreciate you all the more for trying and admitting you need her help. You know how she loves to put on this independent front?” Walter, listening closely, nodded, and Ruth went on. “Well, you and I both know it’s not entirely a front or, at least, it’s not quite so since you came along. By admitting you need her help, you’ll be allowing her to maintain that part of her whilst also placating that part which is devoted to you two as a couple.”

Walter whistled. “Ever thought about writing a…what do the Americans call them? Agony aunt column?”

“Not on your life!” she answered just as the door opened, admitting a postman.

“Hey, Patrick,” Walter said. “What’ve you got today?”

“Good afternoon, Ruth, Walter,” he said, touching his cap in salute. “Only a letter for the lady today,” he went on to say, handing the letter in question to Ruth before touching his cap once more and going on his way.

“He’s running a little late today,” Walter said, looking at his watch. “It’s nearly five. I hope he doesn’t trip in the dark. He’s not getting any younger.”

“It was good of him to come out of retirement to do the round again,” Ruth observed, turning the letter over, as she didn’t recognize the handwriting.

Walter noticed her puzzled expression. “Problem?”

Ruth held up the letter before reaching for her letter opener. “I’ve no idea who this Captain R. Derwent is. That’s the name on the back. You ever heard of him?”

“Definitely not,” Walter answered. “Is there a return address on the back?”

“That’s the curious thing,” Ruth admitted. “It’s from the same POW camp my Joe’s at.”

“Um, do you mind if I ask if Joe’s all right?” Walter asked, a little hesitantly.

Pleased that she could answer truthfully, Ruth said, “Yes. I heard from him a couple of days ago, and he seemed in fine form, all things considered.”

“In that case, the only thing to do is to open that letter,” Walter decided.

With a quick swipe, Ruth slit the letter open. “Very true.”

Sitting back, Ruth read through the letter which, being a typical one from a German POW camp, wasn’t that long. As she got to the end, she slumped back into her seat, gripping the letter tightly in one hand.

Walter leant forward, alarmed at the sudden change in his friend. “Ruth. Ruth! What’s wrong?”

Ignoring his pleas, Ruth read through the letter once more before, her color a little more normal, she looked up into Walter’s still-concerned face. “Sorry Walter. I had to read this again to make sure I’d read it correctly.”

“If you can,” Walter said carefully, “can you tell me what it says?”

Ruth took a deep breath. “Of course. This Captain Derwent, he says he’s a friend of Joe’s. He wrote to tell me Joe’s back in hospital. He needs another operation on his stump, it seems.”

“Why didn’t Joe tell you that?” Walter ventured.

Some fire had returned to Ruth’s eyes. “Believe me, I’ll be asking him that myself in the letter I’m going to write tonight.”

“And did this chap give any details on what kind of operation?”

Shaking her head, Ruth said, “He didn’t, only that he thought I had a right to know.”

“Touching wood,” Walter said, knocking his fist upon the wooden desk top, “I’d say if things were serious, he’d have told you. Maybe he simply wants you not to worry about something you can’t affect?”

After giving this statement some thought, Ruth slowly nodded her head. “I think I’d have to agree with you there. I’ll have to write back to this Derwent chap to thank him.” Looking at her watch again, Ruth heaved herself to her feet. “Come on, let’s pack up for the night and go home. Are you on patrol tonight?” she asked.

Walter was a member of the Hamble Home Guard unit, not being passed fit to join the regular British fighting forces, and took his duties very seriously. “Only between seven and ten tonight,” he told her. “Which reminds me, Matt asked if it’d be okay to pop in after patrol for a nightcap?”

“You can stop wiggling your eyebrows at me, young man.” She tried and failed to keep a smirk from her face.

“Not possible!” Walter told her, disappearing out back to make sure everything was shut down and to let their staff know they could knock off.

Ten minutes later, having managed to shake Bobby awake enough to get his legs moving, the two were walking back toward Ruth’s beloved and recently repaired—after sustaining some bomb damage the previous year—Riverview Cottage. As they passed their friend Betty’s place, the lights were off, not unusual but strange enough for Walter to comment upon it.

“Maybe they’re all waiting for everyone to land before coming home together?”

Narrowly avoiding one of a multitude of puddles left by the downpour which had fortuitously stopped a few minutes before they’d left work, Ruth paused to look the place up and down. “Hold on to Bobby a second,” she said, before going through the gate and knocking on the front door. She peered through the letterbox, shouted out Betty’s and her lodger’s names, though when she got no answer, she made her way back to Walter and her rather impatient dog, who was lifting each foot, one after another, in a vain effort to keep his paws dry.

Walter was about to carry on toward home when Ruth gripped him firmly by the elbow. “Hold on. I’ve a very bad feeling about this.” She looked over her shoulder at the cottage once more and came to a decision. “Don’t ask me how or why, but I think we need to be at the station. Now!”