Where Bluebells Chime. Elizabeth Elgin
said softly. ‘You won’t be tempted, will you, Julia?’
‘Oh, I’ll be tempted all right, Uncle, but I won’t do it – promise. And I’ll have to be going. Nathan is visiting the outlying parishes this afternoon and Mother is inclined to brood, if she’s alone for too long – about Drew, you know.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Now mark it in your diaries: October the fifth. It’s a Saturday. No big eats, I’m afraid, but it’ll be a lot of fun. Sorry I can’t stay longer.’
‘That’s all right. Give Aunt Helen my love,’ Anna smiled as she closed the conservatory door behind them. ‘And I think I’ll ask the exchange to try Cheyne Walk just once more. She’ll think I’m fussing, but I’m so worried, Julia. You honestly don’t think anything awful has happened, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. Somewhere along the line, a telephone exchange has been bombed. Even a telegraph pole getting knocked down could cause a lot of upset with the phones. You’d have heard something, by now if – well, if there was anything to tell.’ She reached for Anna, hugging her close. ‘Try not to worry too much if you don’t get through, but either way, give me a quick ring, will you? ‘Bye, Anna.’
‘Grandfather will be so pleased with the tobacco,’ Tatiana said. ‘I know he’s short. Last night he kept looking in his tobacco jar, then putting the lid back.’
‘Dada’s always short, poor pet. D’you know, Tatty, I nearly hit the roof when we got so near to the counter and then the man said, “Sorry. That’s all, I’m afraid.” And then he said, “Cigarettes all gone, for today. Only pipe tobacco left. Half an ounce to each customer.” Imagine standing there for nearly half an hour for four slices of tobacco. I shall give two to Dada and two to Uncle Reuben. It’s all Hitler’s fault. I hate him.’
‘Doesn’t everybody?’ The bus stopped at the crossroads and they got out, calling a good night to the remaining passengers. ‘Shall I walk part of the way with you – stand at the fence till you’re through the wood, Daisy?’
‘No thanks. I’ll be fine. It isn’t dark yet. And I know Brattocks like the back of my hand – even in the blackout. I don’t suppose you’ll be going to the aerodrome dance tomorrow?’
‘Not a lot of use. Tim’s almost certainly on ops. tonight and as soon as he gets back he’ll be off on leave to Greenock. I’ll miss him, but at least I’ll know that for seven days he’ll be safe. I’m getting up early tomorrow. He’s promised to ring the coin box in the village. Better than him ringing Denniston.’
‘You’ll have to set your alarm, and get out of the house without anyone hearing you. Wouldn’t it have been better to get up early and wait by your own phone and pick it up the second it starts ringing? It’s awful for you having to be so sneaky about Tim’s calls.’
‘I know, but I can’t risk them finding out at home. Mother might say I wasn’t to see Tim again and they’d watch everything I did, after that. Karl especially.’
‘Listen, Tatty, I know I might be out of order, but Karl only watches over you because he’s so fond of you. Haven’t you ever thought of confiding in him – telling him about Tim? He might even be on your side, cover for you sometimes.’
‘He won’t. First and foremost he’s loyal to Mother. She’s still his little countess,’ she sighed. ‘I really couldn’t risk it. I know I can get out of the house in the morning and it’ll be worth the walk because there’ll be no risk at all of anyone hearing what I say. I’ll be able to tell him I love him loud and clear, and not whisper it down the phone like I’m ashamed to say it.’
‘What time?’ Daisy asked.
‘About seven o’clock. He reckoned he’d be back and debriefed by then. The transport to take them to York station leaves at eight, so that’ll give him time to get cleaned up and snatch some breakfast beforehand.
‘The rest of his crew are going to Edinburgh, them being Canadians and not able to get home, poor loves. Tim’s skipper said he was going to spend his entire leave hunting the shops for whisky, and sleeping. Oh, well – I’ll give you a ring tomorrow night.’
She turned away abruptly because she was so miserable, so utterly lonely, and after tomorrow morning it would be worse. Tears filled her eyes and she let them flow unchecked.
Then she turned abruptly as Daisy called, ‘Tatty – I do know what it’s like. Remember I haven’t seen Keth for two years.’
‘Yes, of course. ’Night, Daisy …’
Daisy didn’t know, she thought fiercely; not really.
Okay, so she hadn’t seen Keth for ages but at least she knew he was going to survive the war. Keth was safe in America and tonight Tim would be flying over Germany, searching the sky for fighters. Tim was a tail-end Charlie and tomorrow morning, if Whitley K-King touched down safely, Tim would have flown his thirteenth op. – the dicey one.
She sniffed loudly and dabbed at her eyes. She would not cry. Tim would be all right. Her love would protect him because now they truly belonged. Now Tatiana Sutton was a living, breathing, pulsating woman who loved and was loved in return. No longer was she a cosseted only child, guilty for having been born a girl. She was one half of a perfect whole that was Tim and Tatiana. She existed, when alone, on a soft cushion of disbelief at the new creature she had become. Just to see a flower bud opening or a bird in graceful flight made her feel warm inside.
When the squadron took off from Holdenby Moor into a peachy early-evening sky, she was sick with despair and hugged their love to her like a child with a precious, familiar toy.
When they came together – really together – their first loving had been sweet and gentle and filled with the delight of belonging but the next time had been fierce and without inhibition and if, she thought through a haze of sadness, their last coupling had made a child, then so be it. And if one morning K-King did not come home, then she would have something belonging to him and she wouldn’t care about Grandmother Petrovska nor a shocked Holdenby that would turn away from her and whisper behind her back that she was no better than she ought to be.
But she would never let them take Tim’s child from her. Daisy would understand because Daisy and Keth had been lovers. And Uncle Nathan would help her because he was the kind of man who, if a child could choose its own father then she, Tatiana, would have chosen him.
She wondered if her own father had been kind, like his brother Nathan, and knew instinctively from things half remembered from a misty childhood that he had not.
She closed her eyes. She must not weep again because if she did, someone at home would ask her what was the matter. Instead, she squeezed her eyelids tightly shut.
‘I love you so much, Tim,’ she whispered. ‘Take care tonight.’
‘There, now! See how it’s done, lass?’ Jack Catchpole held aloft a broom handle from which was suspended the hessian sack of hen droppings. ‘You tie the sack in the middle, then you tie it to your broom handle – or any suchlike piece of wood. Is the tub ready?’
‘Ready, Mr C. Half full of rainwater, like you said.’
‘Then that’s all there is to it.’ Catchpole regarded the zinc washtub his wife had discarded all of three years ago. Lily was alus throwing things away. Thank the good Lord he’d had the sense to rescue it from the rubbish tip. He had known he would find a use for it one day. ‘You lay the broom handle across the top of the tub so the sack is covered with water, then every day you lift it up and down – give it a good ponching – and by next year, that liquid’ll be food and drink to those little tomato plants.’
‘Next year? But won’t it smell, Mr Catchpole?’
‘Smell? Oh my word yes, it’ll smell.’ He closed his eyes in utter bliss. ‘There isn’t a scent on God’s earth, Gracie, like a tub of liquid hen manoor.’ Unless it