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“Now you know what you fought for, Charley boy,” Mr Phillips exclaimed. “What a welcome back, eh?” Then he told Dot this woman had been his wife’s treasure and how lucky he was to keep her.

“It’s for Ridley,” he went on. “Kids need a woman’s eye.
She’ll see a sign in a kid’s face that a mere man would never even notice. It’s nature. So I feel safe with her looking in every day.”

“He’s a wonderful little chap,” Miss Pitter returned. “I’m sure he’s a credit to you.”

“I was just wondering if you’d think it was wrong to look after him as I do. Trust my own judgement, I mean. But it’s she gives me the confidence.”

“Well, things won’t last that way for ever, I don’t suppose.”

A roar of traffic kept him from hearing this.

“What’s that?” he asked.

She blushed. But she did not give in. She said it again.

“Well, things won’t last that way for ever, will they?”

“How d’you reckon?” James asked.

Miss Pitter actually began to shift from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know what I mean really,” she explained.

“No, go on,” he urged.

“Well a man like you will marry a second time one of these fine days,” she brought out, with some embarrassment.

“And very nicely put,” Mr Phillips rejoined. “But if ever I did, believe me, it would be for the boy’s sake.”

“Here’s your chance, Dot,” Mr Summers interrupted. They had forgotten all about him. He was feeling extraordinarily light-hearted this first morning. “Better than the office,” he added.

She was not in the least put out. She could handle him. And what was to happen had not occurred yet.

“Careful,” she said. “We’re not on the old advice notes now, you know,” she said.

It was still the first morning, and it continued wet outside. Charley slumped back into a chair, went to sleep all over again with the paper. She’d made another general offer to help in any way, only to be refused. Then, after James had put on their lunch, he came back into the sitting room. He said to her,

“Come over here a moment.”

They stood side by side once more, looking out through other leaded window panes onto the untidy back garden which was two apple trees, a dump of rubbish, and a tumble down shelter, on top of which sandbags had burst to grow ragwort. With the two hedges, it was all green and black and red, particularly a small crop of red apples half hidden, like sins, by the wet leaves, the black branches, and, on the ground, a lush rank grass.

“Rose,” he said, “that’s my wife, who’s dead and gone now, rest her soul, she particularly wanted to have a pergola built just where the air raid shelter is now. Of course the war put paid to that idea. But when I have a minute I’m going to, after we’ve licked those Germans. What’s your opinion? Of course there’s not a great deal of space, but what I’ve got in mind is one of those ones with a triangular sort of roof on brick piers, with seats back to back underneath. What d’you think?”

“Why that would be lovely,” she said.

“What was that? Because you see I’m beginning to realize I value your opinion.”

“I said, why that would be lovely.”

“Yes, and I’d have roses trained up for old times’ sake. You mustn’t judge of it now,” he explained, referring to the desolation. “She was always on at me to clear this mess up. Then, once she was taken, there never seemed to be time.”

“With roses growing all over that would be beautiful as a memorial,” she said.

“She was the best little wife a man ever had,” he replied, completely honest. “But I must go and see to our joint. I notice our friend’s well away,” he said of Charley. “He’s had a bad war, you know.”

“It’s terrible what those poor boys must have been through,” she said.

“What?” he asked, again unable to hear on account of the traffic. She repeated it.

“I’m sure he’s very lucky to have you to watch over his interests at his work,” he rejoined.

“Oh he’s a dear,” she countered, half-heartedly, thinking Mr Phillips was a bit of a dear himself, though of course she had no earthly notion of what was to happen, or that it was to be so soon.

They never saw Ridley except at meals, for which he was most often very late, and through which he sat in a gobbling silence. It seemed he spent all his time with the Gubbins children.

At tea that first day five buzz bombs came over one after the other. They took little notice of the first three, but James and Dot were discussing whether or not they should take cover while the last two roared and rattled past. How different the second morning, bed plus one day, when the same phenomenon occurred at about the same time. Dot squealed the moment she heard the first distant clatter. James immediately hurried her into the wet dark of his broken down shelter outside. There they passionately kissed. On neither of these occasions did Charley move. In fact he was so busy thinking of himself he hardly noticed. Ridley, of course, was away, somewhere on his own.

Charley was more preoccupied that same second afternoon because he had unexpectedly run into Arthur Middlewitch in the village street, where he had gone to buy cigarettes.

“Well bless me, it’s Summers isn’t it?” Mr Middlewitch had exclaimed as they ran across one another, and in exactly the tone he employed when, as civilians, they had first met some months back. “What on earth are you doing here old chap?”

“With Jim Phillips.”

“Down for the August, eh?”

“Aren’t you?” Charley was feeling particularly fit.

“Me? Oh me. I’m staying with old Ernie Mandrew,” Mr Middlewitch replied in a most superior tone, falling into step
beside Summers. “You know, when I come to think, it was a pity you never went across with me to meet him, that time I took you to our little luncheon club.” Naturally Summers had not refused to meet the man. Hearing this made him confused. “Because, if you had gone over, I might have been able to bring you back with me this evening for a cocktail,” Middlewitch continued. “Marvellous place he’s got, old man, simply marvellous. Crawling with domestic servants. I don’t know how he does it.”

“We could make merry over a cup of tea to get on with,” Charley suggested, in what was, for him, a burst of sarcasm.

“Well I don’t mind if I do. I’m not one for tea as a rule but they don’t open for another couple of hours yet, anyway.”

So they went into a bun shop.

“You’re looking a lot fitter than when I saw you last, old man,” Mr Middlewitch began, once they had found seats. “I don’t mind saying I was a bit worried about you. I must have been, because I did you a good turn.”

“How’s that?”

“I played the Boy Scout over you, with Nance.”

Mr Summers’ stomach turned inside him. He was surprised. He’d had no idea he could be so excited at the mention of her name.

“Well, a man who’s fair can’t allow two people he respects not to hit it off together, can he?” Mr Middlewitch proceeded, then paused, it may have been from surprise at his using the word respect in regard to Charley.

“Ah” Mr Summers said, to encourage him.

“You mark what I say, you’re all right there, old chap. Gosh, this tea isn’t going down so bad after all. Did you hear those buzz bombs yesterday? The natives weren’t too happy. Laughable, really, the way they flopped down.”

“What comment did she make?” Charley asked, still on about Nance.

“Don’t give it another thought, Charley boy. She’s all for you. Any little misunderstanding there may have been is over and done with now. Why, didn’t she write?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well I’m glad to have been of assistance,” Mr Middlewitch vaguely replied, already looking round the crowded tea room in case there was a pretty face. A silence fell.

“Who’s in your party?” Mr Middlewitch enquired, as it seemed with impatience.

“No one really.”

“You alone then?”

“No, there’s Jim Phillips we’re staying with.”

“Who’s we, anyway?”

“Just a girl. Dorothy Pitter and me.”

“You’re a bit of a dark horse, Summers. Did you bring her down or what?”

“Of course,” Mr Summers replied, almost lively.

“Well then what’s the form, how’s the old romance proceeding, boy? Because you’re not going to tell me you’ve got yourself engaged, or something, have you?”

“Me?” Charley asked.

“No, of course not,” Mr Middlewitch replied. He had adopted an almost bullying attitude, out of boredom perhaps. “It’s not for the likes of you and me to set up a little home, not yet awhile, believe me. That’s the only trouble about where I’m staying. Lots of everything except fluff. Which is why I took myself down here this afternoon, if you want to know. Come on now, what’s she like?”

“There’s nothing doing,” Charley said, flat.

“Come off it,” Mr Middlewitch demanded. “Tell that to the Japs. What, after the greatest war in history, with everyone still at it, and all we’ve been through? Not to speak of these secret weapons.”

Charley laughed.

“You let the grass grow under your feet,” Mr Middlewitch exclaimed. “That’s your trouble, Charley boy. God bless me,” he went on, “Will you just look at the time. I must be off. Well, it’s been jolly running across you like this.” And he hurried out, after a blonde who was on her own. She was extremely small.

But it now seemed to Charley that he had known Dot too long to try and start anything. Also he knew he was right, for he had only to consider how she had edged away when he’d brought her tea that very morning. Though of course you never could tell, you could never tell with a woman.

He’d never once thought to visit Rose’s grave.

Then, about five o’clock, back at the house, as has already been described, there was the second lot of flying bombs. When James and Dot came back from the shelter Charley noticed nothing. He had at once begun a long complaint about his coupons, and how impossible it was to choose with the few he had.

They were to go back on the morrow, bed plus two day. Phillips and Miss Pitter seemed rather to hurry the evening. They all left the pub earlier than ever, although they’d been having a very pleasant little time. But when Charley got lonely between the sheets he found, as so often, that he could not sleep. He lay there nervously wondering if he should go in to Dot. He told himself that it would mean nothing, after everything was said and done; that is, if it came to nothing, then he was just paying a call, and if it did come to something, well, it would be as much her choice as his own. Because, either way, he wouldn’t be committed. Still, when it came to getting out of bed, he did not seem able to make up his mind.

At last, after a long time, he actually did go. Her door was open, the place empty. Moonlight, coming through a fake Tudor window, lay over her bed with the clothes pushed back like a breaking wave. There were no pillows, for she had taken these
with her. And then he heard noises next door in James’ room. They were in the act.

Of course he felt cheated, but he slept well for once.

The next morning, no one brought Miss Pitter tea.

Then, with not a word said, they’d travelled back to London in a very crowded carriage.

When he arrived that afternoon at Mrs Frazier’s, he found a letter from the handwriting expert. It said there was definitely no resemblance between the two scripts, that Miss Whitmore’s note inviting him round and the letter from Rose, which he had cut out of all the love letters she had ever sent him, were written by two different people. Somehow this did not seem important now. It was out of date. Also Dot’s treachery with Phillips was beginning to rankle, unsettling him. So he put Nancy’s invitation in a pocket, and started off to walk in her direction. He had not decided if he would go up, before he surprised himself knocking on the pink door.

She had been in tears.

“It’s Panzer,” she greeted him, making way so he could enter.

Perhaps it was because of Dot, but he was very taken by how she looked.

“That’s my precious puss,” she explained, when he stayed silent. “I’m afraid she’s been getting into bad company, the naughty girl.”

“Oh,” he said vaguely. He fed his eyes on her.

“I get so upset,” she explained. “Of course I should have taken her round to the cats’ hospital to have a little operation, but I never seemed to spare the time. Now it’s too late.”

“What’s the matter?”

“She’s to have kittens, the wicked girl, her first.” As Miss Whitmore told him, two huge tears rolled down from her eyes, while her face remained expressionless. He actually laughed. Then she giggled.

“Oh, I know, I’m making a fool of myself, you don’t have to tell me,” she said, very friendly.

“Made more of an idiot of myself, for that matter, when I was round here,” he muttered, shamefaced at once.

“I don’t know. Did you?” She was sitting opposite, with the cat on her lap. “Oh, Panzer, how you could? But I’d rather you didn’t give it another thought,” she said to him. “It takes two to get into an argument, as my mother always will insist.”

He suddenly found he was thinking of Nancy’s mother as of someone quite separate from Mrs Grant. But he did not stop to consider this.