Emma's War Read online

  I decided to telephone Mrs Reece that evening. We could discuss anything she wanted to know over the phone, and I would see her with Jonathan at the weekend.

  ‘You look very nice this morning, my dear,’ Margaret said to me when I came downstairs carrying James the next day. She kissed the child, then me. ‘Have a lovely time – and give my love to your mother, Emma. Tell her that she and her husband must come and stay with us for your wedding. I wouldn’t dream of them going to a hotel.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ I said, gazing at her anxiously. She was still an attractive woman despite her illness, but she looked very tired and I was worried about her. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with us? You could stop with my mother while we visit the factory?’

  ‘The drive would be too much for me,’ Margaret admitted with a sigh. ‘I am going to have a nice lazy day here alone. Perhaps sit in the garden if the sun comes out later … or read a book …’

  ‘As long as you rest,’ I replied, kissing her again. ‘We shall be back by supper.’

  I glanced at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a smart grey dress and a coat with a black fur collar, black shoes and a matching leather bag. My long brown hair was swept up and back from my face in a rolled style that I’d copied from one of Bette Davis’s films, and I was wearing a hat with a cheeky feather at the front. I had never thought of myself as being pretty, but I did have a certain style these days – very different from the Emma who had worked in her father’s shop!

  ‘Are you ready, Emma?’

  Sol was getting impatient. He was always slightly on edge when we visited the factory. It wasn’t easy complying with all the new rules and regulations the government kept throwing at us, though being an official supplier to the armed forces did have its compensations.

  I went out to the car. Sol had the door open for me. He held James while I settled myself in the front seat, then placed the child in my arms.

  ‘I swear he gets heavier every day,’ he said. ‘What do you feed him on, Emma, lead puddings?’

  I laughed and shook my head at him. My son was thriving, and Sol was as proud of him as if he had been his own flesh and blood.

  ‘I telephoned Mum,’ I said. ‘She says she has some eggs for us, and a few extra goodies she managed to buy somewhere or other.’

  ‘Your mother will get herself locked up for trading on the black market one of these days.’

  ‘Sol! It isn’t the black market. It’s just that in the country people grow their own food, and Mum happens to know someone who makes farm butter and has just slaughtered a pig they kept in the back yard.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sol agreed, amused by my mother’s excuses. ‘I’ll drop you off with your mother, Emma, and go to the factory alone. It’s all rather boring stuff these days, nothing for you to worry about. You’ll be much happier enjoying a chat with Greta.’

  ‘If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’

  ‘I’m going to check on quality, and look at the stock control,’ Sol said. ‘It would be a waste of your time to come with me. No, you treat it as a little holiday, and visit all your friends.’

  ‘You spoil me, Sol,’ I said, and smiled at him. ‘But I would like a little time to visit my friends.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to talk, with the wedding coming up.’

  ‘Oh, you do look lovely, Emma!’ Sheila exclaimed as I went into the shop. ‘Really smart. And your son is just gorgeous!’

  ‘Thank you.’ I glanced round the shelves. So far the rationing of sugar hadn’t affected Sheila’s sweet stock, though I supposed she had bought in as much as she could before the shortages started to bite. ‘How are you managing?’

  ‘Not too bad so far,’ she replied and pulled a face. ‘Some things are slow coming in, but others don’t seem to have suffered yet. Our suppliers say we shall get our share same as everyone else – but once the government makes us have coupons for sweets I shall go potty.’

  ‘Is it getting too much for you, working here?’ Sheila was in the middle stages of her pregnancy. ‘If you wanted to give the shop up, I would understand.’

  ‘You don’t want it back, do you?’

  She looked so anxious that I laughed and shook my head. ‘No, of course not. I was just concerned for you, and Eric, of course. I wouldn’t want you to feel tied just because you’ve signed a lease.’

  ‘What would you do if we packed up?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Things are going to be difficult for a while. I might just leave it empty and try to sell after the war is over … whenever that is.’

  Sheila looked thoughtful. ‘Would you sell to us, Emma? If we could raise enough money to buy?’

  ‘Are you sure you want it?’

  ‘Eric was talking about selling other things – maybe groceries or alcohol, if we could get a licence. Make it an off licence … He thought about packing in his job and running the shop himself.’

  ‘Won’t he be called up?’

  ‘He’s got a weak chest.’ Sheila frowned. ‘Eric failed his medical last month. It threw him a bit I can tell you. That’s why he’s thinking of expanding the shop …’

  ‘I’m sorry he isn’t well. I didn’t know, Sheila.’

  ‘Nor did we. He gets a bit chesty in the winter, but …’ She shrugged but I could see she was concerned. ‘He would be better off working indoors.’

  ‘You can do what you want with the shop,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to buy it. Apply for the licence. If I can help in any way, just telephone me.’

  Sheila’s face lit up. ‘You’re a real friend, Emma.’

  ‘Let me know how things go,’ I said. ‘I’m going to see Madge Henty now.’

  Sheila nodded. ‘I buy all my things there now. No one else in town has such pretty dresses. I hope the government isn’t going to stop us buying clothes next?’

  ‘Sol is sure it will come. He has a lot of contacts, Sheila, and he knows things – so if you want something new buy it now while you can.’

  I left the shop as a customer entered. At first it had seemed a little strange to see Sheila standing behind the counter of Father’s old shop. He would have hated it, of course: he had never approved of her, but the property belonged to me now, and I had always liked Sheila. She paid her rent regularly, and that was all that counted as far as I was concerned. Besides, she was married and perfectly respectable. Whatever people had said of her once, they had to admire her these days. She worked hard, and it was quite something for her and her husband to own and run their own business.

  A few doors further along the High Street was the dress shop run by Mrs Henty. She was another close friend, and my partner in the dress shop. Trade had been brisk these past few months. I chose most of the stock myself in London and had it sent down to her by rail.

  Sol didn’t make costumes or knitwear, but he had been able to advise me on the best places to buy at the keenest prices, and my own instinct for what would sell in a country town had proved reliable.

  Mrs Henty was serving a customer with a pretty blouse when I went in. I amused myself by rocking James in his pushchair and glancing through the rails. Judging by how thin the stock was, my friend had been rushed off her feet.

  ‘I could do with a cup of tea,’ she exclaimed as the door shut behind her last customer. ‘I was going to telephone you, Emma. Everyone has been going crazy these past two weeks. I am sure they are all terrified the government is going to ration clothes!’

  ‘They will before long. I’ll sort some more stock out for you, Madge.’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ she said. ‘We could probably double or treble our usual orders at the moment … for as long as the panic lasts anyway.’

  I liked to keep the stock fresh, sending Madge a few of the most attractive new dresses from Sol’s rails at a time, but now I saw that it might be wise to build up our stock a little.

  ‘I’ll send whatever I think you can sell,’ I promised as I follo
wed her through to the back room and watched her put the kettle on. ‘Sol won’t mind if we owe him for a few weeks. So, how are you? Other than being busy?’

  Madge laughed. ‘Very well, Emma. I’m comfortable here in my own little way – but tell me what you’ve been up to, my dear.’

  ‘I’m getting married next week.’

  ‘To that nice Mr Reece?’ I nodded and she looked pleased. ‘Well, I think that’s lovely. I like Mr Reece – he’s a real gentleman. So kind and gentle, and polite too. You will be settled at last, Emma.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure I shall,’ I said. Jon was kind and gentle, and I loved him. ‘Do you think you could come up for the wedding? Or is it too difficult?’

  ‘I can get a girl to look after things here.’ Madge beamed at me. ‘Lily is a nice little thing, helps out sometimes on a Saturday when I’m busy. I can leave her in charge for once. I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world!’

  I stayed for nearly half an hour talking to Madge, then made my way back to my mother’s house. Sol would return in a little while, and I wanted a few minutes alone with Mum.

  She had been baking when I went into the kitchen, her face flushed and smeared with flour.

  ‘I had some sugar put by,’ she told me as she brought a sponge cake from the oven. ‘You take this back with you, love.’

  I went to kiss her cheek. ‘You needn’t worry about us, Mum. Honestly, we’re fine.’

  ‘London food isn’t worth the eating,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a box of fresh stuff for you to take back, so you won’t starve for a while.’

  ‘No, we shan’t starve.’ I smiled. She was convinced I had lost weight since I’d been living in London, which might have been true, but was due more to the fact that I was always busy than any shortage of decent food. We were still managing despite the recent rationing of butter, sugar, ham and bacon. ‘Thank you, Mum. We shall enjoy that sponge.’

  ‘I do worry about you, Emma, but you’ll be all right when you’re married to Jon. I trust him – he will look after you.’

  ‘I’m fine now. I don’t need looking after. Besides, Margaret and Sol are so good to me.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She sighed and reached out to touch my cheek. ‘It’s just that … well, I can’t forget how it was for you. I want you to be happy, love.’

  ‘I am happy, Mum. Very happy.’

  She nodded, then reached into her apron pocket and brought out a letter. ‘This came for you last week,’ she said. ‘I opened it, Emma. I thought it might be important. It’s from a solicitor down in the west country … I wasn’t sure whether to give it to you. If I were you, I should just tear it up.’

  ‘Mum?’ I stared at her, seeing the unease in her eyes. ‘Why? What does this solicitor want? Why are you frightened?’

  ‘I’m not exactly frightened, Emma. I just feel it might be best to let things stay as they are.’

  I took the letter out, made curious by her attitude. It was from a firm of solicitors that I had never heard of before. They had been contacted by a relative of the late Harold Robinson … someone wished to know if he had an heir. Apparently, they had seen a notice of his death and now wished to trace any family.

  ‘They’ve heard he left money,’ my mother said. ‘Depend on it, Emma. They’re scroungers, out for what they can get.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ I said, laughing at her expression. ‘Aren’t you curious about them?’ I turned the page, looking for more information. ‘The solicitor says he believes I may be the person he is looking for, and will I reply at my earliest convenience.’

  ‘Tell him you don’t want to see them, whoever they are,’ my mother said. ‘Your father didn’t want to know his family. In all the years we were married, they never tried to contact us. Why should you bother with them now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I shan’t.’ I slipped the letter into my pocket. ‘I’ll send this to our lawyers, Mum, let them find out what it’s all about. Don’t worry, I shan’t get taken in by someone who wants money.’

  ‘Well, just be careful, Emma.’

  ‘How is Bert?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘You said he had a nasty cold when you last wrote.’

  ‘He’s better now. We’re both fine, Emma. Happy …’ She bent down and took James from his pushchair as he held out his arms to her, kissing his cheeks. ‘I miss you and this little fellow – but I wouldn’t change my life. Bert is the man I should have married years ago. If I had how different our lives might have been …’

  ‘Don’t look back, Mum,’ I said, squeezing her waist with gentle affection. ‘I’ve made up my mind I won’t, not ever. I’m not going to waste time in regrets. Life is what you make it, and I intend to make the most of mine.’

  ‘Yes, you must,’ she said. ‘But you will, I know that. We all underestimated you when you were a girl, all tried to take care of you – but you’re in charge now, aren’t you? You look so different, Emma – such a smart woman, a townie … not a country mouse any more. Sometimes I hardly recognize you in your posh frock!’

  ‘But I’m still me underneath,’ I said, and reached out to take James from her as he started to grizzle. ‘I think that’s Sol coming back now. We shall have to go in a few minutes, Mum. We don’t want to be too late back. Sol never says anything, but I know he worries about Margaret.’

  ‘It was good of him to bring you down,’ she said. ‘A man like that … I can’t help wondering why he’s taken to you the way he has …’ She frowned. ‘I mean, what does he get out of it?’

  ‘Mum! Why should he want anything?’ I said. ‘I’ve told you. I trust Sol. He and Margaret are good people. Now, please, stop worrying about me and let him in …’

  Chapter 2

  I had been eagerly anticipating Jon’s arrival, but it was a bitterly cold day, the mist freezing so that it was impossible to see more than a short distance. Jon had telephoned to say he was on his way, but that had been ages ago and I was beginning to fret.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ Margaret said as I went to the front windows yet again. ‘Jon will …’

  The front door bell pealed at that moment, and then we heard Jon’s voice answering the housekeeper’s anxious inquiry.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Rowan. The mist is pretty bad, but I managed to …’

  I flew into the hall. Jon opened his arms, catching me and crushing me to him. We kissed passionately in front of a slightly startled Mrs Rowan and an approving Margaret, who had followed me into the hall and was smiling benevolently as she watched us.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ Jon said. ‘You smell gorgeous, Emma, like a wood after a shower of rain.’

  I laughed with pleasure. Jon always said nice things to me. Sometimes, I thought he ought to have been a poet. He had been a solicitor before the war, though it was not a job he particularly enjoyed. Once, he had confessed to me that he would have liked to be a farmer. I had teased him then, but the slow, gentle life, caring for the land would have suited this man who had come to mean so much to me. Perhaps after the war was over we would think about making a new life together in the country.

  Jon always said of himself that he was a plain, ordinary chap, the kind of man you might pass in the street without giving him a second glance. Perhaps his sandy-coloured hair and rather square features were not remarkable, but inside he was beautiful. There was something fine, almost noble about Jon at times. Of course I would never dream of telling him that – he would cringe with embarrassment.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ I said now, clinging to his arm as I drew him into the warm, comfortable room where we had been sitting round the fire. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got two whole weeks together!’

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Jon smiled at Margaret. ‘How are you, Mrs Gould?’

  ‘Quite well, thank you,’ she replied. ‘Your uniform looks rather smart. I believe congratulations are in order, lieutenant?’

  I realized Jon had various new stripes and badges sewn to his un
iform jacket. ‘Does this mean you’ve passed everything?’ A tiny shiver went down my spine as he nodded. ‘So the training is finally over … that means …’

  ‘Yes.’ Jon touched a finger to my lips. ‘We don’t need to talk about any of this, Emma. We have a wedding to plan, and two glorious weeks to spend together.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said and smiled up at him. ‘Your mother has the wedding planned for next Wednesday …’

  ‘She wanted to wait until Saturday, but I said no.’ A gleam of determination showed in Jon’s eyes. ‘Anyone who can’t make it by then can send their apologies. I want to spend my leave with my wife. I’m not prepared to waste time …’

  ‘Well said, Jon!’ Sol came in at that moment carrying a tray of fine crystal glasses. Behind him was Mrs Rowan with an ice bucket and a magnum of champagne. ‘This is vintage,’ Sol announced triumphantly. ‘I’ve been saving it for the right moment … and I think this must be it, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s rather splendid of you, sir,’ Jon said and grinned. ‘Much appreciated.’

  Sol opened the champagne. It popped beautifully and we all toasted one another, Mrs Rowan staying to wish us health before taking her glass away with her.

  ‘To a long and happy life for you both,’ Sol said. ‘May all your troubles be little ones.’

  We all laughed, sipped our champagne and talked about the wedding. No one mentioned the war, or the fact that Jon would be flying combat missions once his leave was over. I knew he didn’t want to discuss or even think about war when he was with me. He said our time together was special, and must not be wasted.

  ‘It’s always there,’ he’d told me on one of his flying visits home. ‘I live, breathe and sleep war when I’m in camp, Emma. I don’t want to think about it when we’re together.’

  I wondered if Jon was afraid. Surely any man would be? But somehow I sensed Jon’s feelings went deeper. In his heart he probably felt that war itself was wrong: killing and death were something so foreign to his nature that he must hate the very idea. Perhaps that was why he had chosen the air force instead of the army? To keep the death and killing at a distance …