Always in My Heart (42 page)

‘Good luck, dear,’ said Cordelia as she squeezed her hand. ‘Peggy and I will keep our fingers crossed for you.’

Sarah stuffed her shoes into her raincoat pocket and picked up the map and gas-mask box. She tried to return their encouraging smiles, but the muscles in
her face were too tight with anxiety. She headed back down to the cellar and hurried along the garden path, her sandals slapping against the flagstones.

She turned in the gateway and saw Cordelia and Peggy standing at the kitchen window. She waved back to them, hitched the straps of her handbag and gas-mask box over her shoulder, and with the map firmly clenched in her fist, began the long, unfamiliar walk up into the hills.

Sarah was out of breath from the steep climb to the brow and the sandals kept slipping on the grass, which slowed her down. They hadn’t been made for treks like this, and the delicate leather thongs between her toes were beginning to rub. But she knew she had to ignore the discomfort and keep going, and, as she caught her breath and checked the landmarks on the map, she began to feel a bit more confident. Peggy had marked everything well, and she could see clearly which way she had to go.

She set off again, hardly aware of the blue sky and the sharp, salty wind that blew in from the sea as she followed the pencil line on the map and mentally ticked off each landmark. The ruined farmhouse came into view and she drew to a halt. There was the broad valley and the forest of trees which had now been fenced in. She hitched the straps over her shoulder and tentatively made her way down the steep slope into the valley.

The soles of her sandals were smooth and slippery
and several times she almost ended up on her bottom, but she made it finally and stopped for a moment to catch her breath and check the time. It was half-past eleven, and although it didn’t look as if she had much further to go, the distances on the map had proved deceiving, so she couldn’t afford to be complacent.

The grass was greener in the valley and there were vibrant yellow flowers on the dark spiny bushes that seemed to grow everywhere. She followed the tall wire fence that Ron had moaned about and was beginning to wonder how much further she had to go when she saw the country lane. It wound along the valley between fields and hedgerows and disappeared into the distance, where she could just see the top of a church spire. That must be the village where Peggy’s daughter Anne had a cottage, so she had to turn left.

Feeling rather pleased with herself, and relieved that her journey was almost at an end, she hurried down the rough country lane, her sandals scuffing up the dust. But now she seemed to have gone further than four hundred yards and there was still no sign of the two big pillars that guarded the entrance to the estate. She was beginning to panic that she’d gone the wrong way. But as she followed yet another long bend in the lane she saw them, and the relief was so great she found she had to stop because she was shaking so much.

With the entrance in her sights, she sat on the grassy bank at the side of the lane and took off her sandals. Her feet were filthy and there were small red marks
between her toes where the thongs had begun to rub yet more blisters, but she wasn’t going to let a bit of pain defeat her – not now that she’d made it this far.

She cleaned her feet as best she could with her handkerchief and pulled on the ankle socks. The second-hand shoes felt tighter than ever with Peggy’s bits of cotton wool in them, so she discarded them and gingerly stood up. The blister on her heel didn’t feel too bad now it was cushioned by the plaster, and as long as she didn’t have to walk very far, she was sure she could manage.

Checking her appearance in her compact mirror, she tidied away the few wisps of hair that had escaped the pins, refreshed her lipstick and tucked the map in her coat pocket alongside her sandals. Then, beneath the watchful gaze of the two stone stags that stood imperiously on top of the imposing pillars, Sarah took a deep breath and stepped onto the driveway.

The gravel crunched under her shoes and the blister throbbed on her heel as she walked past sweeping lawns and great banks of brightly coloured azaleas and rhododendrons. Ornamental trees rustled in the breeze, their lime greens and russet reds contrasting wonderfully against the blue of the sky and the green of the lush lawns. There was beautiful birdsong, and in the distance she could see a flock of sheep grazing in a field. This really was so quintessentially English and picture-perfect that it almost seemed unreal.

At the end of the driveway she could see the mansion, which looked as if it had been standing there
for centuries, its honey-coloured stone gleaming in the sun. Tall, elegant windows looked over the grounds from beneath veils of jewel-bright droplets of purple wisteria. A bronze statue of a boy riding on the back of a dolphin rose up from the silent fountain which stood in the centre of the driveway turning circle, and imposing white pillars and a portico shaded the sturdy oak front door.

Sarah was enchanted, and she tried to imagine what it was like behind that front door and who the people were who had the privilege of living in such a beautiful, peaceful place.

‘Who are you? And what are you doing here?’

Sarah spun round to face the speaker and immediately took a step back. He was a big, ugly man with a sour expression and a gun hanging over his arm. The dog growling at the end of the leash looked just as unfriendly. ‘I’ve come for the interview with Mr Cruikshank,’ she said, her gaze flitting anxiously to the dog, which had bared its teeth and was snarling at her.

He eyed her suspiciously from head to toe. ‘You’re not allowed up here,’ he snapped. ‘The forester’s office is down there and off to the left.’

Sarah edged past him. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, her gaze locked on the vicious dog which was straining against the leash to get at her. ‘I didn’t realise …’ She scuttled back down the driveway, feeling the eyes of both man and dog boring into her back as she desperately sought the pathway she’d missed.

It was almost hidden between two dense banks
of rhododendron, and she hurried down it, praying fervently that this really was the right path. It seemed to wind on for ever, but she could see the dark trees of the forest ahead of her now, and there, finally, was the wooden cabin she’d been looking for.

She paused to catch her breath and could only hope she didn’t look too flustered. Ignoring the pain in her heel, she climbed the steps to the door. There was a notice pinned to it informing the candidates to use the door at the side, so she followed the arrow, took a deep breath for courage and walked inside. She had five minutes to spare.

The inside of the cabin was sparsely furnished with a desk, two chairs and a line of filing cabinets – and it reminded her so much of her office back in Malaya that she immediately felt at home. She smiled at the middle-aged, rather motherly-looking woman who sat behind the desk. ‘Good morning. I’m Sarah Fuller and I’m here for the interview.’

‘Hello, dear. I was beginning to wonder where you were.’ She gave Sarah a broad smile and shook her hand. ‘I’m Mrs Cruikshank, and if you get the post I’ll be the one to help settle you in. You’ll be taking over my job when I leave.’ She cocked her head. ‘You look a bit flustered,’ she said, ‘but it’s all right. The interviews are running a bit behind schedule, so you’ve got time to get your bearings.’

Sarah handed her the paperwork and sat down on the other side of the desk. She could have done with a cigarette to help calm her nerves, but there were no
ashtrays about, and she didn’t like to ask in case it wasn’t the done thing to smoke in here.

‘That all seems in order,’ said the older woman. ‘Now I’d like to give you some dictation which you will type up.’ She turned the heavy black Imperial typewriter round to face Sarah, pushed a pencil and pad across the desk and immediately began to dictate a letter to the Ministry of Supply.

Sarah’s hand was shaking, but she managed to catch up and soon the page was full of Pitman’s shorthand, which amazingly enough was actually legible. ‘How many copies do you need?’ she asked as she looked at the pile of headed paper stacked beside the flimsy black carbon paper.

‘Three, and I want the type justified, with indentations at the start of every paragraph.’

Sarah quickly adjusted the tabs, settled the carbons the right way round between the sheets of headed paper and neatly rolled them over the cylinder and held them in place with the bail. It was always a tricky enterprise, for the ink invariably got onto her fingers, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d leave a smudged mark on the top copies. She adjusted the chair so she was closer to the desk and rested her fingers nervously on the keys. She was all too aware of the other woman watching her, and knew she had to overcome her nerves and not make any mistakes.

Concentrating hard on her shorthand, she let three years of practical experience take over and her fingers flew over the keys. Drawing the pages out of the
machine, she took out the carbons, checked everything was perfect, and confidently handed the finished letters to Mrs Cruikshank.

‘Thank you.’ She swiftly read through one copy and then set it aside. ‘Now I’d like you to convert all these lengths and girths into cubic feet of timber, and prepare a docket for the stationmaster at Cliffehaven, and another for the colliery in North Wales.’

Sarah swiftly did the conversions, and then read the dockets carefully before she filled them in and signed them.

Mrs Cruikshank smiled and took the dockets, checked them and pushed back from her desk. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said as she gathered up the letters and the paperwork Vera had provided and opened the door behind her desk.

Sarah sat and fidgeted nervously as she stared out of the window to the deep shadows of the surrounding trees. She knew she’d passed the first test, but what was to come?

‘They’re ready for you now.’ Mrs Cruikshank held the door open. ‘And don’t worry, dear,’ she said quietly. ‘They might look daunting, but they won’t bite.’

The two men stood as she entered the room, but the hatchet-faced woman beside them simply glared at her as she sat down to face them and tried not to look too nervous.

Mr Cruikshank was a tall, vigorous-looking man with a weathered face and labour-roughened hands. The man from the MOS had a bald head and drooping,
tobacco-stained moustache, and wore a dark rather shiny suit, which made him look like a well-fed walrus. The woman from the WLA was as thin as a rake, the green uniform sweater and felt hat doing her sallow complexion no favours. She continued to watch with eagle-like intent as the two men asked Jane about her background and experience.

Sarah felt she was doing well, and she’d caught the look of approval that had passed between the two men. As silence fell and it looked as if the interview was over, the woman leaned forward and spoke for the first time. ‘I see you’re engaged,’ she said abruptly. ‘When are you planning to get married?’

Sarah fiddled with her precious ring. ‘My fiancé is still in Singapore,’ she replied. ‘We haven’t set a date yet.’

The woman sniffed disdainfully. ‘You may go, Fuller,’ she said. ‘The successful candidate will be informed within ten days. Use that door.’

Rather taken aback by her rudeness, Sarah nodded and tried not to let any of them see how disappointed she was that a decision wouldn’t be reached today. She walked into the dappled sunlight, closed the door softly behind her and let out a long breath, glad it was over.

‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Cruikshank as she suddenly appeared around the corner. ‘I remember my first job interview, and I thought I would faint at one point.’ She grinned as she pulled her thick cardigan over her large bosom. ‘I’m off in a fortnight to be with
my daughter, who’s expecting her first baby, so they’ll make their minds up quickly.’ She leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I put in a good word for you, dear, so I hope you get it.’

She bustled off down the track and was soon camouflaged by the dark shadows beneath the surrounding trees.

Sarah watched her go and then heard movement in the office behind her. She didn’t want to get caught standing here – they might think she was trying to eavesdrop – so she hurried back down the winding path. Emerging onto the driveway, she glanced nervously about in case the horrid man and his dog were still lurking, and then rushed towards the gates and out into the lane.

Her heel was hurting so badly now that every step was agony, but she hobbled on until she was out of sight of the manor house, and well hidden by the curve of the treeline. Sinking down onto the grass, she cautiously eased off her shoes and socks, stuffed the hated shoes in her gas-mask box and wriggled her toes. The plaster had shifted and the blister was redraw and weeping. No wonder it hurt so much.

She fixed the plaster back into place, fished her sandals from her coat pocket, and got to her feet. The hill challenged her and she determinedly plodded up it, knowing that once she’d reached the top it would be relatively flat and then downhill all the way to Beach View. But when she reached the top she paused in awe as she became aware of the wonderful view.

She could see the Channel glittering in the afternoon sun, and the gleam of the white cliffs that towered over the inlets and beaches that were studded all the way along the coast. Cliffehaven sprawled between the sheltering arms of the hills, and the size and spread of it surprised her, for she hadn’t realised how big it was until today. She looked for recognisable landmarks and tried to trace a path between the station and Beach View, but soon became confused by the maze of buildings, so turned her attention back to the ruined pier and the wide sweep of blue that rippled like silk beneath the azure sky.

Sarah heard the twittering of small birds congregating in the nearby trees and watched the shrieking gulls dip and soar over the cliffs and the rooftops. She sat down on a grassy mound to absorb it all, for there was no rush now and she could relax and enjoy this lovely afternoon.

Lighting a well-earned cigarette, she lifted her face to the sun and revelled in its gentle warmth. It was so peaceful here with only birdsong to keep her company, and she could understand why Ron spent so much of his time up here – but it was so very different to the steamy, vibrant jungles of Malaya with their screeching parrots and hooting monkeys, and she was surprised at how deeply it was affecting her.