London Belles (25 page)

The girls in Paris, at least the ones Rick had met, had been available – for a price – but dancing with them had not proved as tempting as dancing with Tilly, Rick acknowledged. He had felt her small betraying tremble when he had taken her in his arms, and now he was beginning to wonder if she would tremble as sweetly if he kissed her. And he did want to kiss her. The first time he had met her he had dismissed her as a pretty young girl, little more than a schoolgirl, really, but tonight when he had looked at her sitting with Dulcie he had seen a very desirable young woman. The music was offering him an opportunity to get closer to her that it would be a crime to ignore. A girl’s head was surely designed to rest on a chap’s shoulder, her soft curls brushing his chin. The low lights and romantic music were certainly designed to allow a man to whisper softly in his partner’s ear that she looked lovely and that he was glad that she had chosen to dance with him.

Rick’s breath against her ear sent desperately exciting shivers racing through Tilly’s body, his compliment swelling a heart already tender with youthful adoration. Tilly lifted her head and looked up into Rick’s face.

As Rick looked back at her the dim light seemed to enhance the delicacy of her profile and the shine in her eyes. He guided her arm around his side and then released his hand to lift it to her face to cup it as their movements slowed to a barely there sway. Enclosed by the crowd, lost in her own disbelieving delight, Tilly swallowed against the tension seizing hold of her.

Rick was going to kiss her.

Her heart gave a gigantic thump and then a series of flurried excited beats as he lowered his head toward her.

He
was
going to kiss her!

‘The orchestra has stopped playing, in case you two hadn’t noticed.’

Dulcie’s sharp voice sliced into their privacy and its promise, shattering their intimacy. Instead of kissing Tilly, Rick drew his fingertip the length of her nose and then released her, guiding her back towards the table.

Sally, who hadn’t seen what was going on between Tilly and Rick on the dance floor, was still concerned enough just by Tilly’s now besotted expression to take hold of the younger girl’s hand and pull her gently down into the empty seat the young corporal had just vacated to go to the bar, so that Tilly was sitting safely between her and Agnes and not therefore able to cosy up with Dulcie’s handsome brother. Sally didn’t need to ask herself what Olive would think of her vulnerable young daughter falling for Rick. Olive would not like it one little bit.

Dulcie, whilst equally aware of Olive’s probable reaction to any burgeoning romance between Tilly and Rick, was less tactful with her brother than Sally had been with Tilly and a good deal more forceful, grabbing hold of Rick’s arm to prevent him from following Tilly off the floor and then out of earshot of the others, hissing at him, ‘And you can stop flirting with Tilly, and getting her all baby-eyed over you.’

‘I was just dancing with her, that’s all.’

‘You were not just dancing,’ Dulcie told him forthrightly. ‘You want to watch out, Rick, because she’s daft enough to fall head over heels for you.’

‘So what if she does?’

Knowing what Olive’s reaction would be if she could hear Rick, and guessing she’d blame Dulcie herself for sure, and probably throw her out, Dulcie asked her brother, ‘That’s what you want, is it, some daft kid getting soppy over you and then perhaps you ending up married with a baby on the way?’

Rick’s horrified expression told its own story.

‘I danced with her, Dulcie, that’s all,’ he defended himself.

‘Yes, well, you’d better make sure you don’t do any more dancing with her, ’cos I promised her mother that I’d keep an eye on her and that’s exactly what I intend to do.’

That was a lie, of course, but it fitted too neatly into the story Dulcie had told her mother for her to be able to resist it.

‘In fact, if you know what’s good for you you’d better make sure she knows that you aren’t available, because if she thinks you’re messing with her Tilly, then her mother will be after you to put an engagement ring on her finger,’ Dulcie insisted.

‘I danced with her, that’s all,’ Rick repeated.

‘Her mother won’t see it that way. Not if Tilly goes home and starts telling her mum that she’s falling for you,’ Dulcie warned him.

Rick wasn’t the sort to push himself onto a girl. He didn’t need to. He normally had to fight them off, and he’d soon find someone else to flirt and dance with, Dulcie told herself as they both made their way back to the table.

Rick had taken his sister’s words to heart. He liked Tilly, and her girlish and obvious hero worship had swelled his chest and increased his appreciation of her. However, Dulcie’s warnings about the dangers of having Tilly fall in love with him had hit home. There was a lad in their platoon who’d got a girl into trouble just before he’d enlisted, and now he was a married man at nineteen and bitterly resented being tied down. Rick certainly didn’t want that to happen to him. He’d have to cool things down between him and Tilly and keep his distance from her for the rest of the evening.

All Tilly’s joy in the evening had gone. Rick was ignoring her. He hadn’t even looked at her since they’d sat down after their dance, despite the imploring looks she’d given him. Now he’d actually turned his back on her to laugh with his friends as he sat two chairs away from her next to the quiet soldier who was sitting next to Dulcie. Tilly’s misery was as intense as her earlier happiness had been, and threatened to overwhelm her.

Normally the sight of Tilly’s unhappy face would have been enough to have Rick’s resolve slipping. He liked Tilly, after all, and hated to see her looking so miserable, but Dulcie’s warning about the likely reaction of Tilly’s mother, coupled with his knowledge of the fate of his army mate hardened Rick’s resolve. Flirting with a pretty girl, dating her, and even getting a bit sweet on her was one thing, but marriage – that was something different altogether. The last thing Rick wanted to do right now was tie himself down and become a family man. It wasn’t easy, though, for him to ignore Tilly’s distress when he asked other girls to dance. The poor kid couldn’t hide what she was feeling. That was his fault for having encouraged her like he had, of course. Part of him wanted to act the big brother with her and warn her that it wasn’t in her own interests to let any lad see her feelings so plainly, and that she should take a leaf out of Dulcie’s book and act cool and dismissive around lads, but of course he couldn’t do that. All he could do was make it plain to her that he wasn’t the going steady or settling down type.

Agnes felt ever so happy. She was comfortable with Ted. He didn’t make her feel awkward and shy. He understood without her having to say anything that she was content simply to sit at his side, and drink her lemonade whilst they exchanged snatches of conversation.

‘Got anything fixed up for New Year’s Eve?’

The feigned indifference in John’s voice didn’t fool Dulcie. John had always been a bit keen on her, but she wasn’t particularly interested in him. Her dad might go on about how lucky John’s father was having his own business to hand on to his son – if you could call repairing chimneys and fitting new windows and doors and doing general repairs a business, which Dulcie did not – but Dulcie wasn’t impressed. In her view John didn’t have enough backbone about him. He was too willing to go along with others – his dad, her brother, Rick, and of course her, if she had wanted him to do so.

In response to his question she gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I’ve had a couple of offers, but I haven’t made up my mind which one I’m going to accept yet.’

John nodded. Dulcie could see that he was disappointed but she didn’t really care. The last thing she wanted was to be tied to someone as dull as John for New Year’s Eve. If Rick was still on leave, then he could come here with her, she decided. That way she’d have a partner and the freedom to exchange him for someone else, if someone better came along.

The MC was announcing the final dance of the evening, an end that couldn’t come fast enough, as far as Tilly was now concerned. Every bit as much as she’d longed to be here, she now longed to be at home. Especially now, with the last dance having been announced, and with it her last hope of Rick dancing with her again gone as he remained on the floor with the girl with whom he’d had the last two dances.

Tilly’s heart ached with envy. Rick’s partner was petite and blonde and full of confidence. Tilly had seen that from the way she’d showed off her dance steps when she’d first danced with Rick, twirling round so that the full skirt of her bright blue spotted dress rose up to show off her slim legs. She was pretty too, and fun. Tilly had seen the way Rick had laughed at something she’d said to him. It was obvious to Tilly that Rick preferred the blonde girl’s company to her own and all she wanted to do was get home and give way to her tears.

Olive glanced anxiously at Tilly. Her daughter had been very subdued all day. At first Olive had put this down to the excitement of going to the Palais combined with her late night, but as the day had worn on and Tilly had showed no signs of reverting to her normal cheerful self, Olive’s anxiety had grown.

Tilly had always loved Christmas so much, wanting to be involved in all the preparations for it, but today, when Olive had been busy baking and cooking, it had been Agnes who had done the most to help her, her excitement in sharp contrast to Tilly’s withdrawal.

Now Olive, Tilly and Agnes were sitting in the church hall, watching the dancers enjoying themselves to music provided by the vicar’s loaned radiogram. Several times Olive had urged Agnes and Tilly to get up and dance, but Agnes had protested that she wasn’t a good dancer, and Tilly had simply shaken her head and said that she didn’t feel like dancing.

Tilly saw her mother looking at her and bit her lip. If she wasn’t careful her mother was going to guess that something was wrong and then she would start asking questions and then . . . The last thing Tilly wanted was for her mother to know how silly she had been. Seeing her mother’s face creased with anxiety made Tilly feel very guilty. There was no point in her continuing to make herself miserable over Rick, she told herself. He certainly wouldn’t be sitting somewhere thinking about her and feeling miserable because she wasn’t there, would he?

Just as she was thinking that, Mrs Windle came over, leading a young man wearing a St John Ambulance uniform.

‘Tilly, Christopher is new to our congregation. He and his parents have just moved into number forty-nine Article Row, next to Mr Whittaker,’ she announced. ‘He doesn’t know many people yet, so it would help him to make friends if you’d be kind enough to dance with him.’

He wouldn’t get to know many people living next to Mr Whittaker, a veteran of the last war who was something of a recluse. Tilly’s grandmother had always said that it was the disappearance of his wife and the gossip that had caused that had led to Mr Whittaker retreating into himself. The talk had been that she had run off with another man she had got involved with whilst Len Whittaker had been in France fighting for his country.

Now, with the vicar’s wife smiling at her, Tilly got to her feet. She didn’t want to dance but she was far too polite to refuse. The newcomer – Christopher – was pleasant enough looking, with his thick heavy fairish hair, and hazel eyes, but he was very quiet, and Tilly thought that he must be shy.

Trying to put him at his ease, she smiled and said, ‘Are your parents here this evening?’

‘No, my father isn’t very well. He has a bad chest. The last war. He did have a job but he’s retired now.’

Tilly was immediately sympathetic. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She paused, then told him, ‘My own father died because of that war. I can’t remember him because he died when I was very young.’

They’d reached the dance floor and Tilly turned to him but he stood back from her, his face going bright red as he told her fiercely, ‘Before you dance with me there’s something I have to tell you, and then if you don’t want to dance with me you don’t have to.’

‘If you’re going to tell me that you’ve got two left feet,’ Tilly began to joke, brought out of her own misery by his obvious awkwardness and her own desire to help others.

‘No.’ He looked at her and then blurted out, ‘I’m a conscientious objector – to the war you know. I won’t fight. I don’t believe in it.’

Tilly stared at him, and then said uncertainly, ‘But you’re in uniform.’

‘Only to help those who need help. People call me a coward, and I suppose you’ll think the same. But I don’t care. I’ve seen what war can do.’

Tilly didn’t know what to think. The music started up – a barn dance; she couldn’t just walk away and leave him.

‘I don’t think you’re a coward,’ she told him truthfully. ‘In fact I think you must have to be fearfully brave to refuse to fight.’ She reached for his hand, pulling him into the dance, a protective feeling similar to the one she felt for Agnes filling her.

‘Sergeant Dawson.’ Olive gave the sergeant a warm smile when she saw him approaching her, his helmet under his arm.

‘I’ve just come off duty and since I had to pass by on my way home I thought I’d call in and make sure that there wasn’t any trouble. Sometimes young lads get a bit too full of themselves at this time of year.’

A bit too full of drink, the sergeant meant, Olive knew, but he was too discreet to say that.

‘I’m surprised to see you sitting out instead of dancing,’ he added.

‘Oh, my dancing days are over. I’ve only come tonight because of Tilly and Agnes.’

Although she was smiling, Olive suddenly and unexpectedly felt a small pang of sadness. She used to love dancing; Jim had always said that she was as light as a feather on her feet.

‘Me and Mrs Dawson used to really enjoy going dancing,’ Sergeant Dawson told her, ‘but that was before we had our boy, of course.’

Christmas must be a very sad and lonely time for the Dawsons, Olive thought, her sympathy for them driving away her own momentary sense of loss.

Sergeant Dawson was standing up, announcing, ‘I’d better get on.’

‘Oh, yes. You won’t want Mrs Dawson worrying.’

‘She’ll have gone to bed. She doesn’t sleep well and she says my snoring keeps her awake if she doesn’t get off first. She prefers it when I’m working nights.’ He was holding out his hand to her so Olive extended hers so that he could shake it, her hand almost engulfed by his, the feel of his skin against her own warm and roughly male. How long had it been since she had felt the touch of a male hand against her flesh in a caress of intimacy and love?

Quickly Olive snatched her hand free, guilt and confusion staining her face with hot colour. What on earth had got her thinking like that? She’d been a widow for sixteen years and never once during that time had she so much as thought of another man. She hadn’t had the time or the inclination. And she didn’t now, Olive assured herself, as she made herself focus on the dancers.

It was getting dressed up in her new frock that had done it, Olive decided. She knew she shouldn’t have given in to Tilly’s pleas to have something ‘nice’ made from the velvet she and Agnes had bought her.

On the dance floor Tilly tried to draw Christopher out of his shyness. Concentrating on him was far less painful than thinking about last night and the way Rick hadn’t so much as looked at her after their dance, never mind asked her to stand up with him again. It must be as Dulcie had told her on their way home: Rick preferred older girls who knew what was what and that he’d only danced with her because Dulcie had asked him to do so.

In the papers conscientious objectors were often vilified and labelled as cowards. But Tilly felt more sorry for Christopher than contemptuous of him for not joining up.

‘What made you become a conscientious objector?’ she asked him curiously as they stood together in the queue for the buffet table.

‘I don’t agree with wars and fighting, and killing people. Not after what the last war did to my father.’ His gaze burned with intensity as he spoke.

‘But the country has to be defended from Hitler,’ Tilly told him.

He didn’t make any response, turning away from her.

‘Mrs Windle said that your family had only recently moved here, but most people are moving out of London, not into it,’ Tilly persisted, trying to engage him in conversation.

‘We used to live with my grandmother, but she died six months ago, and with me being in the civil service Mum said it made sense for us to move over here.’

Tilly nodded. There were a lot of Government offices in the Holborn area, including Somerset House.

‘Mr Ryder from number eighteen, who’s retired, used to work at Somerset House,’ she informed Christopher, ‘and Mr King, who owns six of the houses lower down the Row, used to have several tenants who worked in the civil service. Most of them have moved out now because of the war.’

When Christopher made no response Tilly suppressed a small sigh. She was a sociable girl who enjoyed the company of others and meeting new people, but trying to get him to talk was like drawing teeth, she decided ruefully. But good manners meant that she had to keep trying.

They’d almost reached the buffet table so she changed the subject and told him proudly, ‘You must have one of the mince pies, and a sausage roll. My mother made them.’

He nodded and then blurted out, ‘I’d prefer it if you call me Kit, not Christopher, and thanks . . . for dancing with me. I don’t think the vicar really approves of me being a conscientious objector, only, being a man of God, he can’t really say so.’

‘You’re still doing your bit,’ Tilly told him stoutly, indicating his St John Ambulance uniform.

The dance finished early, in time for the midnight carol service. As Tilly told her mother, linking arms with both her and Agnes as they set off for number 13 afterwards, there was something special about singing carols on Christmas Eve.

At St Barts, Sally shared Tilly’s feelings, her eyes stinging slightly with emotion when she left the chapel where one of the chaplains had just finished conducting the Christmas Eve midnight service.

‘We never did get to manage that meal out together,’ George Laidlaw told her, catching up with her as she walked down the corridor.

She’d seen the young doctor only briefly since his return from his posting with their evacuated colleagues, their only exchange brief nods of recognition, and sometimes a few words as they went about their duties.

‘The theatre lists have been busy,’ she told him. ‘With most of the staff evacuated and a reduced number of operating theatres, there’s been more pressure on those that there are, especially with all the blackout accidents that have been coming in.’

‘If you haven’t already got a partner for the hospital’s New Year’s Ball, and you aren’t on duty, perhaps you’d consider letting me take you to that?’

Automatically Sally opened her mouth to refuse and then closed it again. What was the point in looking backwards to what might have been?

‘I’m not on duty, and yes, I’d like that,’ she answered.

‘You will?’ George looked delighted.

Ten minutes later as she stepped out into the cold night air, her cloak wrapped warmly round her, Sally discovered that she was still smiling at George’s obvious pleasure in her acceptance.