Daisy's Wars (37 page)

Sitting at the table that night she looked up and met Peter’s eyes. He seemed a nice enough man, if slightly odd, and she felt an attraction to him, but there was nothing she could do, she
decided. She could only be as she was.

The next morning she slept late and had breakfast in her room, hoping that by the time she finally appeared he would have left; but a note arrived on her tray with the eggs and
bacon asking her to join him downstairs when she felt up to it.

It might well be a good idea, she thought. If she could talk to him seriously she might be able to make him see that his attentions were unwanted and could lead nowhere, that she honestly could
never be interested in him. As she came downstairs, her speech arranged and rehearsed ready to be delivered in the sitting room, he shouted, ‘There you are! Come on!’ and walked outside
to an MG two-seater.

‘I didn’t know that was yours,’ she said, looking at it.

‘Of course it is,’ he smiled. ‘I’m a company man, a Morris Motors company man, what else would I drive? Get in, I’ll take you to meet your friend.’

‘You know perfectly well there was – is – no friend, Peter. I was trying to escape.’

‘Get in anyway,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘We need to talk.’

Sitting in the MG with the hood down there was little chance of hearing each other, so she used the time to rehearse her speech again. He pulled up under a tree in a lane and turned to her.

‘Daisy, we have to get this sorted out,’ he said.

She shook her head and laughed.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘We met three days ago and here you are, turning serious and sorting things out. What is there to sort out?’

‘I am deadly serious about you,’ he said. ‘I fell in love with you the minute I set eyes on you.’

‘No,’ she replied, grimacing, ‘stop it, I don’t want this.’

‘And,’ he continued, ‘I told you the truth at Nuffield Place the other night. I pulled rank to be your escort, though Mar had told me about you. Now I don’t care how long
this takes, though I’d prefer not to hang around, but I will not give up on you.’

‘You make me sound like a project,’ she said quietly.

‘Well that’s because you’ve made yourself into a project. It doesn’t have to be this way, but if you insist then that’s how it must be. But I will not go
away.’

‘Peter, I think you’re insane, but try to understand that I don’t want the whole domestic thing. I don’t want to get married and become a housewife and mother.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t, it’s my choice.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he smiled. ‘Something or someone has scared you, but we’ll get over it.’

‘Look, there was someone, he died in the war,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, I know,’ he said.

‘How do you know?’ she asked, shocked.

‘Mar told me.’

‘How does Mar know?’

‘Mar knows a great deal, don’t ever underestimate her. She said there was a sadness about you and she guessed there was a man involved.’

‘But I didn’t tell anyone, not ever!’

‘Maybe you’re not as dark as you like to think. Look, Daisy, I loved someone once as well – my wife.’

‘Yes, Mar told
me
that, too,’ she said wryly.

‘So I know what it’s like to lose someone, but that made me determined not to waste a minute of what was left of my life, because it can be snuffed out very easily and quickly. You
know that as well as anyone. Not that I expected to meet someone else, but there we are, you came along.’

‘Stop saying that!’ He touched her hand and she pulled it away. ‘I mean it, Peter, you have to stop this. I can’t deal with it. I don’t like people touching
me.’

‘It’ll get easier, Daisy,’ he said gently. ‘It’ll get easier.’

When Peter left Rose Cottage that afternoon it was with the firm intention of returning as soon as possible, and he didn’t care who knew it. He had told Mar and Par that
he was going to marry Daisy as soon as she saw sense, and Daisy said he was the one who needed to see sense, and they grinned at her as though she were a moody child. She felt uncomfortable,
besieged, yet she had to admit to herself that there was nothing threatening about him. Peter’s bullying was of the most gentle and affectionate kind, and he was the most gentle, kind and
affectionate man she had ever met; not as loud and booming as the Bentleys but every bit as open with his feelings. He wasn’t like younger men she had encountered, he was a man from another
generation with manners that fitted a different age, even if he was peculiar. And he was that, too, he could be disconcertingly odd, but he looked her in the eye, she realised with a start. Right
from the beginning he’d looked her in the eye, and she couldn’t remember that happening since she was thirteen years old.

Yes, she did. Calli. Eileen’s lovely boy had always looked her in the eye. She could close her eyes and see him still, those serious dark eyes looking at her from a distance and his lips
saying ‘Poor Daisy’.

Peter had never laid a hand on her either, except when they were dancing at the cocktail party, and, looking back, there had been nothing objectionable about it, apart from the fact that she
hadn’t wanted to dance with him. In the car during their chat, he had briefly touched her hand and she had pulled it away and said she didn’t like to be touched. So, when he was leaving
Rose Cottage he obviously remembered and made no attempt to embrace her. She had noticed that. Instead he had blown her kiss, which reminded her of Bruiser and made her run to her room and lie on
the bed for a long time crying. All those ghosts, so many ghosts in her life, and she was so young.

Peter returned to Rose Cottage three days later and continued to woo Daisy – if behaving as if he owned her was a form of wooing, Daisy thought. Wherever she was he was
by her side, as though their being together was an established fact, and somehow she couldn’t shake him off. Not that she tried, because he had her at a complete disadvantage. She was a guest
in Mar and Par’s home and he was an old friend who was being pleasant and attentive towards her.

There wasn’t the slightest feeling that he was coercing her or trying to force a relationship on her, yet that was what he was doing. In times past she would have delivered a mouthful that
would have stripped that easy smile from his face, but she couldn’t do it in these surroundings, in the home of their friends; and, curiouser still, she found that she didn’t want to.
In some ways, she thought with a start, it was like being with Bruiser again, and he reminded her of Frank, too, and his refusal to believe that she wanted no contact with him.

When Peter left again the next day she felt oddly out of sorts and thought she was coming down with a cold, then suddenly she realised that the coldness she felt was the empty space beside her
that he had somehow made his own. Not only was this strange man wearing down her resolve, but he was doing so in such a gentle way that she didn’t object any longer, didn’t want to
object either. It made her feel out of her own control when she had prided herself on being the one always in control.

And Mar watched in kind delight. Mar, who she had deceived and lied to, watched Daisy being worn down and smiled at the scene.

‘Why don’t you phone him?’ Mar asked one bright, warm June evening.

‘Who?’ Daisy asked, looking out of the front window of Rose Cottage, her arms crossed around her waist.

‘You know perfectly well who!’ Mar chuckled, only being Mar it seemed to reverberate through the entire house.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Mar,’ Daisy replied. ‘I’ve been thinking it was time I moved on, went to London for a while, maybe go abroad now that I’m rested
up.’

‘Oh, stuff and nonsense! You’re missing Peter Bradley!’

‘I am not!’

‘Daisy,’ Mar said, advancing on her, taking hold of her by the elbows and shaking her, ‘you are such a bright girl, but you can also be incredibly stupid. Phone the
man!’

‘But what should I say?’ Daisy asked helplessly. ‘I’m not good at these things, I’m far better at shooting them down!’

‘You won’t have to say a lot,’ Mar said, hugging her. ‘At the sound of your voice he’ll jump into that ridiculous little car and be on the doorstep in a
second.’

So she picked up the phone, dialled the number, and when someone answered she said it was Miss Sheridan for Mr Bradley.

There was a pause then the voice came on again.

‘Mr Bradley will be right with you, miss.’

‘Oh, right. Fine.’

‘You can hang up now, miss.’

‘But you said he’d be right with me …’

‘He will, miss,’ the voice said, and she was sure she could detect a hint of amusement. ‘He’s in the car and he’ll be right with you, miss.’

‘Oh. Thank you …’ She replaced the receiver.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Mar boomed. ‘Mar knows everything!’

And as they hugged, Daisy thought,
not quite everything
, and decided she would have to talk to her, but not till after she’d talked to Peter.

By the time Peter arrived at Rose Cottage, the Bentleys who were at home had whipped themselves and everyone else within reach into such a frenzy of excitement that Daisy could hardly find a way
through the throng. It was just how they were: cheerful, happy, loud people who conspired to banish the most fleeting moment of silence and involved themselves fully in the lives of their friends.
They were hopelessly noisy and outgoing and without the slightest inkling that other people might wish things done differently. Indeed, it was very hard to believe Par had been involved in war work
so secret that he would never talk about it to anyone. It simply didn’t occur to them that whatever was or was not happening between Daisy and Peter, they might welcome some privacy in order
to discuss it. It was part of their charm that once an event was in full swing it was accorded a life of its own and the stars were relegated to merely being supporting acts.

Knowing this was one of the secrets of coping with the family, Peter, as an old friend, was aware that the party would swing without him and Daisy. He motioned to her with his head to meet him
outside and whisked her away in the MG to where they had had their last outdoor conversation. It was a beautiful night, as balmy and warm as the best June nights should be, and he produced a ring
in a small box.

‘Put it away, Peter,’ Daisy said. ‘This time we really do need to sort this out.’

He put the box into his pocket and sat, hands resting on the steering wheel, looking at her.

‘So this is it?’ he smiled. ‘Make or break time. I’m ready for a speedy getaway, as you can see.’

She nodded. ‘I have some things to tell you.’

So she told him about her life in Newcastle, about her father and his hopeless need to be Irish, even though he wasn’t, and about the family before him who were. Then about her mother who
had been a well-known singer, until she’d married and had children, ending any real chance of a career, but she had been sick from then on anyway, so it didn’t really matter. When Kay
was born it was obvious she had inherited her mother’s musical talent, and she was beautiful, and strange in a way, but was going to make her mother’s dreams come true. She explained
how she had cared for her mother, run the house and looked after Kay all her life, because Kay had the voice of an angel and was going to be a star. She hadn’t minded then, but had begun to
as she got older and understood that her dreams, ambitions – her life – were to be sacrificed for the greater good of the family.

Daisy left out certain bits, Dessie mainly, but told Peter her sister had married and had a family, and that ‘her people’, as Mar called the Sheridans, weren’t abroad for the
duration, but had all been wiped out in a German air raid. He reached out and took her hand and this time she didn’t flinch.

‘There’s something more you have to know,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll have heard from Mar and probably others, too, that I had a high old time at parties during the
war.’

‘You don’t have to tell me any of this,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes, I do,’ she replied. ‘People will say I’m a good-time girl who married you for your money. You have to know if that’s true.’

‘Oh, no,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t spoil the illusion! I just
love
the idea that I’ve been seduced by a sexy young thing! Think of the sympathy I’ll get! No,
please, Daisy, leave it at that!’

She glared at him and he laughed. ‘The thing is, you silly goose, that the advantage here is on one side – mine. You’re young, beautiful, and that body – what? You think
I hadn’t noticed? I shall parade you for all to see and every male will be eaten up with jealousy and think me a helluva stud!’

‘You will
not
parade me about!’

‘I bloody well
will
,’ Peter said. ‘You forget, you’ll be marrying me for my money, you’ll be bought and paid for, my girl. I shall have my money’s
worth!’ He leaned over and pulled her to him, kissing her hair and laughing.

‘Wait, I have to tell you something important. The number of times I’ve had sexual intercourse—’

‘No, I don’t want to know that.’

‘You have to,’ she chided him. ‘I have to tell you. Peter, the answer is
once
. I was at the parties, I was on the arms of all sorts of men, but that’s as far as it
ever went, not that they told their friends that, I imagine.’ She pulled away and looked out over the green fields. ‘I was raped when I was eighteen years old, Peter, by someone who had
known my family for many years. That was it. The one and only time and, the next morning I signed on. I never went home again. I quite understand if it disgusts you. There’s nothing to hold
you to me yet, you’ve made no commitment to me.’

Peter put his arm gently round Daisy’s shoulders, and when she looked at him, instead of disgust he was smiling at her.

‘I suppose that’s why I don’t like people touching me – men, anyway. But if you think it’s too much to take on, that’s fine, honestly. I won’t think any
less of you and neither would anyone else.’

‘Well, actually, what I was thinking, Daisy, is that you’re so upset about this that I can’t see you enjoying your wedding day with the thought of your wedding night hanging
over you. I think we should go off now, find a nice little hotel and get it over with. What do you say?’