Fallen Skies. Philippa Gregory

       Chapter Nine

      Lily loved Weymouth even more than Bournemouth. The town was smaller and the audiences less smart but the countryside around the little resort was spectacularly beautiful with wide sheep-grazed fields interlinked with winding hedged country lanes and scatterings of prosperous grey stonebuilt villages. Charlie borrowed a motorbike and sidecar from one of the stage crew and on their day off, Sunday in the first week of June, drove Lily out along the coast. Lily, very daring, wore a pair of slacks lent to her by Madge.

      ‘Keep your legs in the sidecar, you’ll cause a riot, you hussy,’ Charlie said tolerantly.

      Lily had hesitated. ‘D’you like them? I’m not sure if they’re all right to wear out of doors.’

      ‘We’ll go down secluded lanes, all you will frighten is cows.’

      They took a picnic with them. Lily, remembering the Argyll and the grand picnic set, laughed when she saw Charlie’s doorstep sandwiches of cheese and pickle in brown paper bags, and a bottle of lemonade for them to drink.

      ‘You’re a good deal too choosy.’ Charlie spread his feast on Lily’s outspread head scarf. They had stopped at the crest of a cliff, looking out to sea. Below them a little white chalk path wound down to a bay. The waters were a clear light-filled blue, so clean that Lily could see the shadows of seaweed shifting in the currents and sometimes the flicker of a school of dark fish.

      ‘The trouble is you’ve been spoiled,’ Charlie pronounced.

      ‘I have not! I like cheese and pickle. I can like posh things and ordinary things. I can like both.’

      Lily took a sandwich and bit into it Beside them, at clifftop level, a kittiwake gull riding the thermals from the beach below them wheeled inland, its bright black eyes on Lily and her sandwich. Lily took a piece of crust and flung it upwards.

      ‘There you go, wasting good food!’ Charlie said instantly.

      Lily chuckled easily. ‘I didn’t waste it, I gave it to a seagull. Seagulls have a right to be fed I suppose.’

      Charlie unstoppered the lemonade and took a swig from the bottle before wiping the mouth and handing it to Lily. ‘Forgot cups.’

      ‘That’s all right.’

      Lily drank and handed the bottle back to him. ‘D’you think Sylvia de Charmante is really good? I’ve watched and watched her and I can’t see what she does that is so much better than anyone else.’

      ‘Better than you, you mean?’

      Lily flushed and shot a shy look at Charlie. ‘Well yes, actually. I know I’ve got loads to learn and everything but …’

      He nodded. ‘She’s no better than you, in fact her voice is weaker and she’s much less musical. But she got herself a name during the war and she’ll trade on that for the rest of her life. I saw her once, she did one of those recruitment shows with a film of the Western Front and free beer at the bar, and some songs and a kiss for the lads who went up and signed on. Poor fools.’

      ‘Did many go?’

      Charlie shrugged. ‘A dozen or so, I suppose. It made little difference in the end. Once conscription came in everyone had to go. It just made the difference to what time you got there.’

      ‘I’m glad you weren’t there for long,’ Lily said. ‘I don’t like to hear about it. It spoiled everything for me when I was a girl. The streets had to be kept dark, and it was always cold. Everyone’s dads and brothers went away. Everyone was short tempered and there was never enough money.’

      Charlie nodded. ‘Poor Lily,’ he said mockingly.

      Lily threw the rest of the crust to the gull and lay back on the short springy turf. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to think I was lucky because I was a girl, and my dad died quickly and didn’t come home a cripple, and my ma had the shop. But she never thought there was any point to the war. Not from the very beginning. And so I never thought it was so wonderful either. And when the kids in the streets did pageants, or the girls did knitting, or collected newspapers or cloths or whatever, I always thought that it was a great big lie. And I thought Kitchener was a bully, I hated his face on the posters everywhere you went. He used to give me nightmares.’

      Charlie chuckled. ‘You’re preaching to a convert, Lily, I never liked the man either. I volunteered to go because I thought it was a good cause and that Germany had to be stopped. I bought it almost at once –’

      ‘Where were you hurt?’

      ‘Lungs.’

      ‘Did it hurt very bad?’

      ‘Ohhh.’ Charlie flapped his hand at the memory. ‘Pretty bad. And then I came home and trained more poor fools in a dismal camp at the back of beyond in Wales for the rest of the war.’ Charlie lay back and closed his eyes. ‘Rhyll. It feels like a long, long time ago now.’

      ‘And Sylvia de Charmante made her name out of it,’ Lily pursued.

      Charlie chuckled. ‘Yes. You won’t have a chance like that, but I’ve got an idea for you, Lil. When we get back to Portsmouth I may have a new job. I may get the post of music director at the Kings.’

      Lily sat up at once. ‘Golly.’

      Charlie smiled. ‘Yes indeed. You may call me Mr Smith. I’ll see if I can get you an audition as an act. They’ll put a show together, like this one, and then do a two- or three-theatre tour with it. It’s a different group of theatres and it’s Variety – not old-fashioned music hall. So you’ll have a chance to do a little bit more.’

      ‘Was that your idea? That you told Ma and me about?’

      Charlie nodded.

      ‘Why are you so nice to me?’ Lily burst out. ‘You picked me out of the chorus line and asked me to sing, and then you tried out your choir boy idea using me, so I’ve got an act of my own now and billing on the posters. And now you’re thinking about something new. Why are you so good to me?’

      Charlie’s arm was over his eyes, blocking out the overhead sun. He raised it slightly and squinted at her. ‘Because,’ he said equably.

      ‘No, why?’

      He grinned. ‘Because I choose to.’

      Lily leaned over him and put her hand, tentatively, on his chest. ‘Because you like me?’

      Charlie took his arm from his face and put his hand on top of Lily’s.

      ‘Yes, I like you a lot.’

      There was a long silence. The gull, weaving back over them, cast a fleeting shadow and cried a short mournful cry.

      Lily dropped her fair head to Charlie’s upturned, passive face. The sleek bob of her hair fell forward and brushed both his cheeks. Lily hesitated, her lips an inch above his. Charlie made no gesture at all. Lily bent a little lower and kissed him.

      Charlie’s other hand came behind Lily’s waist and held her gently. Lily raised her head and sighed, scanning his dark face. Charlie smiled up at her, still unmoving.

      ‘Charlie