Nightingales at War (23 page)

‘YOU’RE LATE.’

Aunt Freda’s greeting was typically chilly. Eve gritted her teeth and tried to smile.

‘I’m sorry, Aunt,’ she said, as pleasantly as she could manage. ‘The trains are very difficult at the moment. It took me a long time to get here.’

‘Perhaps you should have left earlier, in that case.’

Eve ignored the comment. She shrugged off her coat and hung it over the back of the chair at her aunt’s bedside, then sat down. ‘How are you feeling, Aunt?’

‘How do you think I’m feeling?’ Freda snapped back. ‘I’m stuck here in the middle of nowhere, the staff couldn’t care less, and I’m in great pain. And they never give us anything to eat.’

‘I’ve brought you some sweets,’ Eve said, delving into her bag. ‘Barley sugars, your favourite. And look.’ She rummaged around and produced an orange from the depths of her bag. ‘Mrs Stanton managed to get some from the greengrocer’s. Wasn’t it kind of her to think of you?’

No need to tell her aunt that Mrs Stanton had actually bought the orange for Eve, and that she’d decided to save it.

She was proud to be able to offer her aunt such a treat, but Aunt Freda accepted the fruit and put it in the bowl on her bedside locker without thanks or comment.

Eve tried again. ‘You’re looking well,’ she said. ‘The country air must agree with you.’

‘I very much doubt it. We’re driven mad by planes going over day and night. And if it’s not that, it’s the wretched troop lorries trundling back and forth, shaking us out of our beds. I never get a wink of sleep. I might as well be at home . . .’ she started to say then stopped, pressing her thin lips together.

Poor Aunt Freda. Eve knew it couldn’t be easy for her, being uprooted and moved to the middle of the country. And she’d lost her home and livelihood, too. No wonder she looked every one of her fifty years.

As usual, it was the shop that Aunt Freda wanted to talk about. ‘Have you spoken to the Borough Engineer?’ she demanded. ‘Has he said when they’re going to start rebuilding?’

Eve was silent for a moment. The Borough Engineer’s office had actually told her they had no immediate plans to rebuild her aunt’s shop, or any of the other buildings on their street. But how could she possibly explain that to her aunt? Especially when the poor woman was pinning all her hopes on coming back to London.

‘I have spoken to them,’ she began carefully. ‘But they say they’re rather busy at the moment . . .’

‘Busy, my foot!’ Aunt Freda retorted. ‘You have to be firm with these people, don’t allow yourself to be fobbed off. Those wretched civil servants will try and get away with anything if you let them.’ She gave a frustrated sigh. ‘I can see I shall have to write to them myself if I want to get anywhere. I knew I shouldn’t have left it to you. I might have known you’d make a mess of it.’

‘But Aunt—’

‘Don’t argue with me, child.’

‘No, Aunt,’ Eve said meekly.

Aunt Freda stared at her. ‘There’s something different about you,’ she declared.

Eve put up her hand to her blushing face. She hadn’t worn make-up or curled her hair since the day Cissy showed her how a couple of weeks earlier. But she still braced herself, afraid that somehow her aunt would know what she’d done. As Aunt Freda always told her, she could sniff out sin.

Finally, her aunt sat back and said, ‘You’ve put on weight. That’s what it is.’

Eve didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. ‘I – I don’t think I have, Aunt.’

‘I thought I told you not to argue with me?’ Aunt Freda stared down her long nose at Eve. ‘It doesn’t suit you,’ she said flatly. Then she added, ‘I hope you’re not gorging yourself at the Stantons’ expense?’

‘No, Aunt!’

‘And you’re helping out and making yourself useful, as I told you?’

‘Yes, Aunt.’ No point in telling her that Mrs Stanton refused all offers to cook and clean around the house. Aunt Freda would only say Eve hadn’t tried hard enough.

Desperate to impress her aunt, she said, ‘I’m learning the piano. Mrs Stanton has been giving me lessons.’

Her aunt frowned at her. ‘And whose idea was that?’

‘Mrs Stanton’s. She says I’m quite good.’

‘I daresay she was just being kind,’ Aunt Freda dismissed. ‘Really, Eve, you shouldn’t take advantage of their good nature. Piano lessons, indeed! I’m sure Mrs Stanton has better things to do!’

‘But she offered,’ Eve said lamely, then flinched as her aunt turned on her.

‘You mustn’t make a nuisance of yourself,’ she hissed. ‘Remember, you’re not a house guest. You’re only there thanks to their Christian charity, and you should do your best to stay out of their way as much as possible and not impose on their good nature. They don’t want you acting as if you’re part of the family.’

‘But they seem to quite like me . . .’

Aunt Freda sent her a withering look. ‘Of course they don’t like you!’ she snapped. ‘They’ve taken you in as a favour to me. Do you really think they’d want to know you otherwise?’

The journey home was just as long and difficult as the way down had been, except now it was dark, and the wind was lashing the rain against the windows, and the train finally gave up and pulled into a siding three miles from London. Eve didn’t have the money for a taxi so she walked the rest of the way. At least she didn’t have to fear the dark for once, as the sky glowed orange with the light from distant incendiaries, and the ground shook with the crump of bombs from the planes swooping overhead. By the time she reached the vicarage, her heart was in her mouth and her legs were shaking so much they could barely hold her up.

The house was in darkness as she crept in. But as she passed the door to the library, she was surprised to see a welcoming fire blazing in the hearth.

She put her head round the door. Oliver sat in one of the leather wing armchairs beside the fire, a sketch pad balanced on his knees. The firelight gave his fair hair a burnished glow as he bent over his work.

He looked up at her and smiled. ‘There you are! Mother was wondering if you’d got lost. It was all I could do to stop her sending out a search party.’

They don’t like you
, she heard her aunt’s voice saying in her ear.
They’ve taken you in as a favour to me
. . .

‘I’m sorry,’ Eve murmured, taking off her coat. ‘I didn’t realise anyone would be waiting up for me.’

‘I had to promise Mother I would, otherwise I think she would have had half the constabulary out looking for you.’ Oliver peered at her. ‘You’re soaking wet,’ he said. ‘Is it raining that badly?’

‘My train terminated in Essex. I had to walk the rest of the way.’

‘You’ve walked all that way in this rain? You’ll catch your death.’ He put down his sketchbook and stood up. ‘Here, let me help you.’

He helped her off with her coat and hat. ‘Go and sit by the fire, for heaven’s sake. Would you like some cocoa? Mother left you some supper in the kitchen too, if you’d like it?’

Eve’s stomach growled at the mention of food. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. ‘That’s very kind,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll go down and get it.’

She moved to the door but Oliver stopped her. ‘Keep warm,’ he said sternly, pointing to the armchair he’d just vacated. ‘I’ll bring it up to you on a tray.’

‘Really, you don’t have to go to so much trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble. Mother would be furious if I allowed you to get pneumonia.’

His sketchbook was lying on the armchair where he’d abandoned it. As she approached, Eve could just about make out the rough pencil outline of a figure. But before she could see any more, Oliver grabbed the book and flipped it closed.

‘Just trying something out,’ he muttered. ‘Not sure if it works or not. Now, about that cocoa . . .’

Eve perched uneasily on the armchair, gazing into the flames. All the time her aunt’s words kept swimming through her mind.
You’re only there from their Christian charity, and you should do your best to stay out of their way as much as possible . . . They don’t want you acting as if you’re part of the family . . .

Was she imposing on the Stantons’ good nature by sitting here, warming herself by their fire? Eve wondered. They were so kind, it was hard to tell.

Oliver returned with her supper on a tray and set it down in front of her. Eve looked up at him. ‘Aren’t you eating?’

He shook his head. ‘I had something earlier, with the rest of the family.’

She felt a little self-conscious at first, with him sitting opposite her, watching her eat. But she was so tired and famished, she soon forgot he was there as she tucked into her cold ham and pickles.

‘You don’t have to stay up with me,’ she ventured. ‘I don’t want to keep you, if you’d rather go to bed?’

‘I’d rather stay and chat to you, if you don’t mind? I could work while we talk.’

Eve paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. She couldn’t remember anyone ever asking if she minded anything.

‘How was your aunt?’ Oliver asked, flipping open his sketchbook and picking up his stubby pencil. ‘I daresay she was pleased to see you, wasn’t she?’

Eve thought about Aunt Freda sourly picking over the gifts she’d been given, rejecting the book Eve had chosen and turning her nose up at the barley sugars, even though a week earlier she’d insisted they were her favourites. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘We had a lovely time.’

‘Then why do you look so sad?’

Eve looked up at him sharply. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘It’s in your eyes,’ he said. ‘You’re always smiling, but your eyes are always so full of sadness.’

Eve lowered her gaze, suddenly self-conscious again. ‘It’s all right,’ Oliver said. ‘I don’t think anyone else notices. Only me. It’s one of the perils of being an artist,’ he said wryly. ‘I’m used to seeing behind people’s faces.’

Can you see behind mine? Eve wanted to ask. But she didn’t really want to know the answer.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Oliver reminded her after a moment. ‘Why are you so sad? Has your aunt said something to upset you?’

Eve gazed down at her plate, picking over her food. Then she asked, ‘Do you think your parents mind having me here?’

Oliver looked genuinely surprised. ‘What makes you ask that?’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Did your aunt put that idea in your head?’

‘I just wondered.’ Eve still didn’t look at him, although she could feel him watching her intently, his pencil still moving restlessly over the page. ‘I am very grateful to you for having me here,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to impose on your charity for too long . . .’

‘Charity?’ Oliver echoed. ‘What makes you think we’re offering you charity?’

‘Aren’t you?’ At last she lifted her eyes to meet his, and was surprised by the look of tenderness she saw there.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘My parents love having you here. We all do,’ he added, so softly Eve wondered if she’d imagined him saying it. ‘Anyway,’ he went on briskly, ‘my mother would never hear of you leaving. You’re like a second daughter to her. And Muriel loves having a sister. Between you and me, I think she’s always wanted one. I’ve been a lifelong disappointment to her,’ he said, pulling a face.

Eve smiled. ‘Everyone has been very kind to me.’

‘Kinder than your own flesh and blood, from what I gather.’

Oliver muttered the comment under his breath, and once again Eve wondered if she’d heard him properly. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

His face flushed in the firelight. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s just something I’ve noticed, that’s all . . .’

‘For your information, my aunt has been nothing but kind to me,’ Eve told him sharply. ‘She took me in when I was just a baby, gave me a name and a roof over my head. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have ended up in an orphanage, or the workhouse. And she taught me a trade, so I could earn my own living.’

‘And never paid you a penny,’ Oliver murmured.

‘Why should she? I should have been repaying her for everything she did for me!’ Eve parroted back the words she’d heard so often while she was growing up.

‘You’re right,’ Oliver said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have criticised her. She’s your family, after all.’

‘Yes, she is.’ Ridiculous as it was, Eve felt a sudden pang of longing for her aunt’s chilly kitchen. Difficult as Aunt Freda might be, at least Eve had felt she belonged there.

She picked up her tray and stood up. Oliver closed his sketchbook again and looked up at her in dismay. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m taking this back to the kitchen,’ Eve said stonily.

He sighed. ‘I’ve upset you, haven’t I? Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything – Eve, come back!’

But she was already out of the door and heading for the kitchen. It wasn’t that she was angry with Oliver, but he was far too observant for her liking. And Eve didn’t want him seeing behind her face. Not for anything.

JENNIFER DROPPED THE
letter in the postbox and immediately regretted it.

What was she thinking? It was the fourth time she’d written to Philip Chandler in the two months since he’d left the hospital, and he hadn’t replied once. She had long since given up looking out for the postman.

If she’d had any sense, she would have given up writing to him by now. Why couldn’t she take the hint? If Philip Chandler had ever been interested in her, he certainly wasn’t now. She didn’t even know if her letters were getting through to him. For all she knew, he could have been transferred to another hospital, or even sent home.

But still she wrote. Even though she told herself every letter would be the last, as the days went by the urge to write would grow stronger and stronger, until she couldn’t stop herself from picking up her pen again.

Her letters to Philip had become like a diary for her. She told him all the news about the hospital, about where she’d been and what she’d been up to. But she also talked about her feelings, just as she had when they used to talk every evening. She shared all her fears and frustrations, about her work, Cissy, even Johnny . . . It felt strange in a way, writing down her innermost thoughts to someone she barely knew. Perhaps knowing that Philip may never read them made it easier to tell him how she really felt.

This letter had been all about her friendship with Cissy, and how it had turned sour because of Eve Ainsley. Although once she’d written it down, Jennifer began to realise that perhaps Eve wasn’t the real cause of her problems. She had neglected Cissy, and so Cissy had taken up with Eve to teach her old friend a lesson.

And it had worked. Jennifer was determined not to drift apart from her any more, which was why she had arranged for them to go to the pictures that night. She wanted to make a special effort with her friend, to show her how sorry she was that she’d taken her for granted.

So she was very put out when she saw Cissy coming up the street arm in arm with Eve Ainsley.

‘What’s she doing here?’ The words were out of Jennifer’s mouth before she could stop herself.

Eve looked as if she might take flight, but Cissy tightened her grip on her arm. ‘It was my idea,’ she said. ‘Eve’s never been to the pictures before, so I said she could come with us. I said you wouldn’t mind?’ Her gaze was fixed on Jennifer, hard and meaningful.

Jennifer looked at Eve. Trust her to poke that pointed little nose in where it wasn’t wanted! ‘It’s a free country, I suppose,’ she shrugged.

They made an awkward group, walking to the picture house. Jennifer had been looking forward to a good gossip with Cissy, but it was difficult with Eve there, hanging on to every word. She looked such a sight, too, shrouded in a drab, shapeless coat that must have been at least three sizes too big for her. Didn’t the girl own any nice clothes? Jennifer wondered.

She did her best to ignore Eve and leave her out of the conversation, but Cissy kept drawing her back into it. In the end it was Jennifer who felt like a gooseberry, listening to them gossiping about Casualty, and one of the doctors who had apparently taken a shine to Eve.

‘It’s true,’ Cissy said. ‘I definitely saw him smile at you this morning.’

‘Dr Jameson smiles at everyone,’ Eve murmured, a tide of colour sweeping up her face.

‘Yes, but it was the way he smiled. You must have noticed it, surely?’ Eve shook her head. ‘Trust me, a man doesn’t smile at a woman in that way unless he’s interested in her. Isn’t that right, Jen?’

‘I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there,’ Jennifer reminded her.

But Cissy didn’t take the hint and soon they were off again, discussing Dr Jameson and his supposed interest in Eve. Privately, Jennifer couldn’t imagine why anyone as good-looking and lively as Simon Jameson would ever look twice at a drip like Eve, but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Cissy was fussing over Eve like a mother hen, and Jennifer had a feeling her friend would turn on her if she said a word out of place.

It was even worse when they got to the cinema. Eve was irritatingly wide-eyed as the usherette showed them to their seats, gazing around at their grand surroundings like a child in a toy shop. Jennifer would have made a sharp comment but Cissy sat protectively between them, sharing her sweets with her new friend. She seemed utterly charmed by Eve’s excitement.

‘Look at her,’ she whispered to Jennifer. ‘I’m glad we invited her, aren’t you?’

Luckily the first Pathé News film lit up the screen, saving Jennifer the trouble of replying. She stared up unseeingly at the flickering images of the Duke of Kent inspecting a brand-new type of aircraft, her mind elsewhere.

This was all wrong, she thought. It was supposed to be her and Cissy, not Cissy and Eve. Six months ago she would have laughed at the notion that her best friend would go off with anyone else, let alone a timid little mouse like Eve Ainsley. Yet here they were, whispering together as if Jennifer didn’t exist.

Mindlessly, she found herself fiddling with the gold bracelet on her wrist for reassurance. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. She could have gone out with Johnny instead. At least she knew he cared about her . . .

The Pathé film ended, and the lights went up again before the main feature. Cissy was still talking to Eve, but she didn’t seem to be listening any more. Her attention was fixed on Jennifer’s bracelet.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked in a small, flat voice.

‘My Johnny gave it to me.’ Jennifer held up her wrist so they could admire the bracelet, pleased that the attention was on her for once. ‘Do you like it?’

Eve didn’t reply. But the way she was staring at the bracelet sent an uneasy feeling creeping up the back of Jennifer’s neck. She tweaked the sleeve of her jumper down over her wrist, concealing the bracelet from sight.

Cissy stepped in. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked Eve. ‘Are you all right? Do you need some air?’

Eve stared at Jennifer’s wrist. ‘I know that bracelet,’ she said. ‘It belongs to my aunt. It was stolen after our house was bombed.’

There was a short, awkward silence. Jennifer could feel Cissy looking at her, her gaze reproachful.
You see,
she seemed to say
. What did I tell you?

Jennifer turned on Eve, wild with outrage. ‘Are you implying my Johnny is a thief? You don’t even know him . . .’

‘No, but I know that bracelet,’ Eve insisted quietly.

‘You must be mistaken. It probably just looks like your aunt’s bracelet, that’s all . . .’

‘My aunt’s bracelet has a diamond missing from the clasp.’

Cissy turned to Jennifer. ‘Let’s have a look,’ she said.

Jennifer tucked her arms around herself. ‘No.’

‘Go on, Jen. Then we’ll know it isn’t the stolen bracelet, won’t we?’

Jennifer glared at her. She didn’t like the way Cissy was looking at her, as if she already knew the truth. She was supposed to be Jennifer’s friend. Why wasn’t she sticking up for her, instead of taking Eve’s side?

‘Show us,’ Cissy said.

She made a grab for Jennifer’s wrist but she jerked her arm away. ‘Leave me alone! I don’t have to show you anything.’

‘Because you know we’re right,’ Cissy said.

So it was ‘we’ now, was it? Two against one. Except, for the first time, Jennifer was the one being left out.

‘I don’t have to prove anything to you. If you were a real friend you’d believe me,’ she said.

‘I am your friend. That’s why I’m trying to make you see sense. It’s about time you found out what that Johnny Fayers is really like, Jennifer Caldwell!’

They glared at each other. The lights lowered again, and the heavy red velvet curtains drew back slowly. Jennifer stumbled to her feet and started to move along the row, fighting to get out.

She half expected Cissy to get up and follow her, but it was Eve who called out to her.

‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘Leave her,’ Cissy muttered. ‘Let her go, if that’s what she wants.’

Her mother and father were in the kitchen when Jennifer let herself in.

‘You’re early,’ Elsie Caldwell said.

‘The projector broke down, so they cancelled the film.’ It was a stupid lie, but all Jennifer wanted to do was escape. She didn’t need a barrage of questions from her mother.

‘That’s a shame. I’ve heard it’s a good one, too.’ She looked past her daughter’s shoulder towards the hall. ‘Did Cissy not come home with you?’

‘No,’ Jennifer said. ‘No, she didn’t.’

Her mother and father looked at each other, but said nothing. They probably thought she and Cissy had had another of their fallings out. But this time it was more than just a spat. Jennifer didn’t think she would ever forgive her friend for humiliating her like that.

She went upstairs to the sanctuary of her own room. She sat down heavily on the bed and steeled herself to take off the bracelet. Until a few hours ago, she couldn’t stop admiring it. Now she could hardly bear to touch it.

As she went to undo the clasp, as usual her thumb found the tiny hollow where the diamond was missing. She hadn’t liked to point out the flaw to Johnny when he first gave her the bracelet. And as time passed, she had stopped noticing it.

Until now. She wrenched off the bracelet and flung it across the room.

Eve had ruined everything. Again.

It was the first film Eve had ever seen and she had been looking forward to coming to the cinema. But she couldn’t concentrate on the black-and-white images flickering across the vast screen in front of her. Even when the picture magically burst into colour and Dorothy and her friends began their magical journey to the Emerald City, Eve was too preoccupied to notice.

She should never have said anything, she thought. But she couldn’t help it. The words were out the minute she’d seen Jennifer flaunting her aunt’s bracelet, showing it off so proudly on her wrist.

She hadn’t meant to humiliate her, and she certainly hadn’t meant to drive her away.

‘I should apologise,’ she said to Cissy as they walked home afterwards.

‘Why? It wasn’t your fault. If anyone apologises it should be Jen.’

‘But she was so upset . . .’

‘Good,’ Cissy said firmly. ‘Perhaps it will make her wake up at last and realise what kind of man that Johnny Fayers really is.’ She turned to Eve. ‘I’ve a good mind to tell my dad.’

‘You can’t do that!’ Eve was shocked. ‘What if Jennifer got into trouble?’

‘It would serve her right,’ Cissy muttered. ‘It might even drum some sense into her.’

‘Please don’t,’ Eve begged. ‘She’s upset enough, without us making it worse.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Cissy agreed heavily. ‘But all the same, he can’t be allowed to get away with it. We should do something, surely?’

‘I think if anyone does anything, it should be Jennifer.’

Cissy laughed harshly. ‘She won’t! She’s far too besotted with him. If he told her black was white, she’d believe him.’

I’m not so sure, Eve thought. She’d seen the distraught look on Jennifer’s face as she rushed out of the cinema. Cissy might not believe it, but Eve had a feeling Jennifer Caldwell had finally woken up to the truth.