A Song At Twilight (31 page)

Ben did as he was told. William Prettyjohn looked up from the leather bag he was making and nodded. ‘Mornin’, young Ben. Bit of time off?’

‘A few hours.’ Ben sat down in the chair opposite. He felt unusually awkward, but William merely went on pushing his thick needle through the leather and drawing the thin strips through the holes. Perhaps I ought to ask him now, Ben thought, and cleared his throat.

‘Here we be then, my flower.’ Mrs Prettyjohn came bustling through the kitchen door with a tin tray on which he saw four cups and saucers and a plate of scones. ‘Must’ve smelled these baking, you must. Grandpa’s gone to do a bit of gardening for old Mrs Hubbard down in Buckland, so it’s just us, all cosy. Here, Ben – take two while you’re at it, save me passing it over again.’

Once again, Ben did as he was told. Still feeling shy and awkward, he sat eating the scones which for once tasted like dust in his mouth, and listening to the others talking. He replied when someone addressed him directly, but apart from that he was silent. He glanced at May once or twice and she gave him a reassuring smile, but his heart was thumping so hard he felt sure they must be able to hear it and he could only manage a faint, wavering grin back.

‘What’s that noise?’ William asked suddenly, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

‘Oh, it’s just Norman Philly, come with a load of logs. He said he’d be by this morning.’ Mrs Prettyjohn jumped up and hurried to the back door. May got up too and followed her.

‘I’ll go and help.’ She gave Ben a meaningful look and closed the door behind her.

William Prettyjohn picked up his work again and Ben stared hopelessly at the empty fireplace. For a moment, he entertained the thought of just not asking – of just letting it go, keeping the engagement secret and waiting until another day. Or week. Or even – but no, that was silly. Whatever was the matter with him? He could fly an aircraft over Europe, fighting the enemy, risking his life every night, yet he couldn’t ask this man a simple question. He cleared his throat and the other man glanced up.

‘Got a bit of a cold, have you, boy?’

‘No,’ Ben said desperately. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s something I want to ask you, Mr Prettyjohn.’

‘Ask away then,’ William said, stitching imperturbably.

‘It’s – it’s just that – well, you must know that May and I are fond of each other.’ He could feel the heat rising up his body, apparently from the ends of his toes to his ears. He went on rapidly, ‘I mean, we’re
really
fond of each other. We – we love each other, Mr Prettyjohn, and we want to get married. Well, engaged, anyway. I want to buy her a ring. I thought we could into Tavistock tomorrow and get it, but I thought I ought to ask you first and – and so, that’s what I’m doing.’ He stopped, feeling that he hadn’t done this at all well. ‘Would – would that be all right with you and Mrs Prettyjohn?’

William laid down his work at last and faced Ben gravely.

‘You’m wanting to marry our May?’

‘Yes,’ Ben said, relieved to have it out in the open.

‘And she wants to marry you, is that what you’m saying?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Hadn’t he made that clear?

‘Well, I don’t know as there be much I can do about it, then. She’s of age, got the key of the door and all. Free woman.’

‘I know, but it seemed only polite – a matter of courtesy,’ Ben babbled, feeling his anxiety return and wondering if he had offended May’s father in some way. ‘It didn’t seem right to just go and buy her a ring and then tell you.’

William regarded him thoughtfully. Then his face broke into a smile and he held out his hand. Ben took it in his, finding it surprisingly strong, and smiled back. It looked as if it was all right after all.

‘Bless my heart, boy, don’t look so worried. ’Tis just my way, to tease you along a bit – but if you wants our May and she wants you, there’s nothing me nor Mrs Prettyjohn’ll do to stand in your way. Though I won’t say as we haven’t had our doubts,’ he added, looking serious again. ‘There’s a lot of differences between you, and you’ll have to work at it, both of you. And you got to remember you’m still only a young chap, for all you’m doing man’s work. Us’d both like to see you wait a bit before you ties the knot proper.’ He saw Ben’s face fall and went on more gently, ‘But there, ’tis strange times and things has to be done different, I know. And like I say, May’s a free woman, can make up her own mind and I dare say her will – always known her own mind, our May has, for all her looks so gentle and biddable. You’ll find that out as time goes by.’ He nodded. ‘Whatever you decides between you, Mother and me will do our best to help. There.’ He shook Ben’s hand firmly. ‘And now, if old Norman’s finished unloading they logs, I’ll get Mother to bring in a drop of Grandpa’s elderberry wine so us can toast your future happiness.’

Ben started to get up out of his chair, but before he was properly on his feet the kitchen door opened and the two women came in. May was flushed and smiling and Mabel Prettyjohn was carrying the same tin tray, this time bearing four small glasses and a bottle of purple wine. Ben looked at them quizzically and she laughed.

‘Us had an idea there might be something in the wind. So you’m going to be our son-in-law, be you?’ She set down the tray and came over to kiss his cheek. ‘And very welcome you’ll be, though mind you, we had a lot of talking to do before us could make up our minds to it, what with May being older than you and you a vicar’s son and everything.’

She poured the wine and handed it round, and William lifted his glass in the air. ‘To May and Ben. Their future happiness.’

‘May and Ben,’ Mabel echoed, and they drank solemnly and then gazed at Ben with expectation. In some horror, he realised that he was meant to reply.

‘You’re not expecting a speech, are you?’ he asked in dismay, and they all laughed. ‘Well, I’ve never made a speech in my life, but I’m happy to propose a toast. To you all. To my lovely future wife,’ he smiled at May, who dimpled, blushed and smiled back, ‘and to my future parents-in-law. A finer couple never walked the earth.’ He realised his blunder and flushed scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I mean – oh Lord, I’m sorry. I just mean – well, I’ll be very glad to be your son-in-law,’ he ended, and buried his nose in his glass, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him.

William and Mabel roared with laughter and May came over and sat down beside him. He put his arm around her and she kissed his cheek. He realised with a sudden lightening of his heart that this was something new – that he could sit with his arm around May, in the presence of her parents, and it would be all right. The anxieties of the past few minutes evaporated and his face split into a smile that seemed to stretch from one ear to the other as he looked around the room.

‘We’re engaged!’ he said in wonder. ‘May, we’re
engaged
!’

‘I know,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

The back door opened and they heard feet stamping on the floor and then the noise of someone pulling off a pair of boots. A muttering sound ensued, and then old Mr Prettyjohn appeared in the doorway and surveyed them with astonishment.

‘What be going on here then?’ he demanded. ‘Drinking and carousing in the middle of the morning? And be that my best elderberry wine, what I was saving for summat special, that you’ve opened up? Celebrating summat, are you?’

‘That’s right, Grandpa,’ May said, getting up to kiss his wrinkled cheek. ‘We’re celebrating. We’re celebrating something very, very special.’

Andrew came home late that afternoon, looking preoccupied. He had tea with Alison and Hughie and then said he had to go back.

‘Can’t you even stay to put Hughie to bed?’ she asked in disappointment. ‘We’ve hardly seen you lately.’

‘Sorry, darling. You know how things are.’ Everyone was aware now of the closeness of the Invasion. Yelverton was just outside the exclusion zone, but travel into Plymouth or anywhere along the coast was banned and the numbers of Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen were increasing every day. Camps were being set up wherever there was space, and khaki-coloured trucks, lorries and tanks were seen regularly rumbling along the roads and even the narrow lanes. The airfield itself had received several Canadian squadrons, and local pubs like the Leg o’ Mutton and the Rock were filled with men every night. What with them and the Americans who were still at Bickham House, the whole area resounded with transatlantic accents. It was, Alison had thought once or twice, as if they had all been transported to Texas.

‘I know,’ she said with a sigh Normally, she tried not to let her feelings show, but her loneliness had increased just lately. She told herself that it was partly because of her pregnancy, but the nights when Andrew was flying seemed colder and more forlorn than ever before. She welcomed the visits of the other pilots – Robin, Ozzie, Ben and the rest – and spent as much time as possible with May, but still it was Andrew’s company that she yearned for most. The only other times when she felt at peace were when Stefan was there, talking to her, telling Hughie stories or sitting at the piano, lost in his own world as his fingers roamed over the keys.

‘It’ll be over soon,’ Andrew said. ‘We’re going to win this war, sweetheart, and it can’t be much longer now. Once we’re in France again …’

‘There’ll still be a lot of fighting. The Germans won’t give in that easily, Andrew, you know they won’t. Not after all this time. And France is a big country – and then there’s the rest of Europe as well. It won’t be over in five minutes.’

‘We’ve got Russia on our side, though,’ he pointed out.

‘They’re driving the Germans from behind. If we can just get them in a pincer …’

‘It will still take months. Maybe even years.’ Alison shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t talk like this, but I need you too. And with the baby so close as well …’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, darling!’ Andrew dropped on his knees beside her chair. ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. You know I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to. I hate not being here, I hate not being with you at night. I realise how hard it is for you, I do really, but there just isn’t anything I can do about it. Darling, please don’t cry.’ He took her face in his hands and began to kiss the tears away. ‘You’re all salty!’

Alison laughed a little. ‘Sorry.’ She felt for a hanky and wiped her cheeks and eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to do this, but – sometimes it just gets too much for me. I ought to know by now what it’s like, being an Air Force wife, and, I know it’s not as bad as being married to a soldier or a sailor, but all the same …’

‘You’re tired,’ he said tenderly. ‘You’re tired and upset and you’re having a baby. I ought to be with you. It’s just not fair, is it?’

‘Nothing’s fair,’ she said dispiritedly. ‘And I feel so selfish, too. I mean, look at Ben with his mother having a breakdown over her other son, and look at Stefan. He doesn’t even know if his family are still alive.’

‘I know. He’s told me how helpful you’ve been to him, letting him come here and talk and play the piano. But you mustn’t let it get too much for you.’

‘Oh, I don’t. I like seeing him – and all the others, of course. I like the company. But it’s you I want most.’

‘You still see plenty of May, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘It’s all very well, all these rough pilots making themselves at home here, but it’s a woman’s company you need most.’

‘May comes in nearly every day. She stays longer a couple of mornings and does the housework, but she usually drops in on the other days as well. She’s a really good friend.’

‘I wish your mother could come over again,’ he said, ‘but with all these travel restrictions … And she’s so busy with all the war work she does.’

Alison drew herself up a little and gave him a slightly wavering smile of reassurance. ‘Don’t worry, Andrew. I’m all right, really. I just let it get on top of me a bit. I get lots of company really, don’t I. I was just feeling sorry for myself. Don’t take any notice.’

He smiled and kissed her. ‘That’s my girl. And you’ve got your bed booked in the maternity home, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, weeks ago.’ Alison had decided against a home birth. Since it was so unlikely that either Andrew or her mother would be there, it had seemed best to go to the local maternity home in Horrabridge, two or three miles away. ‘May’s going to sleep in when it gets near the time and she’ll ring the local taxi to take me in, and then take Hughie home with her to stay while I’m there. That’s the worst part – I’ll have to be in for a fortnight. I hope he’ll be all right.’

‘Of course he will. He loves being with the Prettyjohns, and I’ll be around too. You’re not to worry about that.’ He kissed her again and then got to his feet. ‘I really do have to be going now. I hate leaving you like this.’

‘I’m all right.’ She put up her hands and he took them in his to help her up. They stood for a moment with their arms around each other. ‘Don’t worry, darling. I was just being silly,’ she whispered. ‘Come in as soon as you can, won’t you, to let me know you’re home safely.’

‘I will,’ he promised. He held her for a moment longer, then let her go. She followed him to the door and watched him settle his cap on his head before stepping outside. He turned at the gate and gave her a wave, then strode away.

Alison stood there until he was out of sight. The evening was bright with the cool, clear light of late April. She thought of the mission he was on tonight – a flight over France again, probably, escorting the bombers which would rain death and destruction on the factories and railways below. She had a sudden chill of premonition.

Andrew always said he had ‘had his crash’. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen again. Neither he nor his squadron could go on living charmed lives for ever.

All that night, the area around Yelverton resounded to the roar of aircraft. It was as if every squadron on the place was taking off. Probably they were, Alison thought as she lay in bed listening, still with the cold fingers of dread closing like a fist around her heart.

She tried to shift her bulk into an easier position. The baby seemed like a leaden weight inside her, with sudden bursts of furious activity when she most longed to rest. How many more weeks was it? Five? Six? If only I could know the exact date, she thought, it would help. But nobody seemed able to tell her that.