Sealed With a Loving Kiss (18 page)

Mary kept her chin dipped into her coat collar and, shielded by Jack's sturdy figure, managed to pass by without them even noticing. What was it with those two? Eileen had been so scathing about him, and yet here she was, on Christmas night, once more deep in some intimate conversation with him.

She decided to stop puzzling over something she would probably never solve, for every moment of Jack's leave was precious and she'd be foolish to waste even a second on either of them.

Rosie had been stuck indoors with Tommy, and although she'd cooked a large lunch of roast chicken for them both which they'd washed down with a good bottle of wine, the atmosphere had been far from festive.

It had soon become clear that his mind was on other things, for he said very little, seemed to be always on edge, and smoked far too many cigarettes. In the end, she was relieved when he said he was going out – though where that might be was anyone's guess. Everything was shut, and there were very few people in Cliffehaven who would welcome him into their homes. Yet she didn't really care, for it was just good to have the place to herself for a while.

She took her time to get changed into something more appropriate for Peggy's party, and as she clipped on her sparkling earrings she checked her appearance in the mirror. Satisfied with her hair and make-up, she adjusted the square neckline of her navy dress and smoothed it over her hips before checking that her legs didn't look too horribly streaky.

Her last decent pair of nylons had been ripped to shreds on a nail sticking out of one of the crates in the cellar, so she'd dyed her legs with gravy browning, which was tricky enough – but trying to get the pencil-line straight at the back had been a real struggle. ‘There are times,' she muttered, ‘when I wish I had a sister – or at least another girl in the house.'

Monty yapped and wagged his tail, his bright-button eyes eagerly watching her every move from the doorway to her bedroom. He knew they were going out and was becoming impatient.

‘You're no help at all,' she told him fondly.

He barked again and nudged his leash towards her.

Rosie chuckled. ‘Yes, you're coming too. But first I have to find my navy shoes.' With Monty following her closely, she padded along the short passage between the two bedrooms and pushed open Tommy's door.

She gave a cluck of annoyance, for it was in a mess again, and stank of beer and cigarettes. She opened the dormer window to let some fresh air in, but then had to shut it quickly against the wind that was tearing up from the sea.

‘He'll just have to put up with the smell,' she said crossly. ‘But once he's left for good, I'm probably going to have to fumigate the place.'

Monty sniffed at the dirty clothes strewn across the floor and then sat down to gnaw on an abandoned brown brogue.

Rosie left him to it – if Tommy left his things lying about, then he only had himself to blame if Monty chewed them. She went to the large mahogany wardrobe and opened both doors. Tommy's suits, jackets, shirts and trousers hung from the hangers, sweaters were folded on the top shelf, and his shoes were lined up on the bottom. For a man who'd spent the last few months in prison, and who insisted he had very little money, Tommy had a lot of very expensive clothes.

She rummaged about, trying to find the shoebox she was certain she'd left in here, and as she swept back all the clothes that dangled in her way, she delved right to the back of the deep wardrobe.

The shoebox was there as she'd known it would be – but it wasn't the only one, and she stared in amazement at the great stack of them lined along the back. ‘How many shoes does one man need?' she muttered. ‘No wonder he never has any damned money.'

She lifted the first one out and frowned at its weight. Intrigued, she opened the box and stared in horrified disbelief at what lay inside. A cold fury surged through her as she took out the two half-bottles of whisky and set them on the floor. Then she lifted out the rest of the boxes, only to discover more whisky, gin, rum and numerous packets of cigarettes and rolls of pipe tobacco. Tommy was up to his old tricks again.

‘You bastard,' she breathed. ‘How
dare
you?'

Trembling with rage and sick at his betrayal, she sank onto the unmade bed and wondered what to do. She couldn't tell Ron, because he'd be round here like a shot to punch Tommy's lights out – and although her brother fully deserved it, violence never solved anything.

She certainly couldn't put the bottles in her bar, for they were all marked with the insignia of the American Army, and she didn't want to hide them anywhere in case there was a sudden raid by the police. They knew where he was and what he was, and she was certain they were just waiting for an excuse to put him back in prison and throw away the key.

‘And I'd be the first one to congratulate them,' she rasped. ‘But if I tell the police what I've found they'll think I had something to do with it and arrest me too. God, what a mess. How could you
do
this to me, Tommy? How
could
you?'

As Monty put his muzzle on her knee and looked up at her sorrowfully, she stroked his head and gave a tremulous sigh. The cigarettes and tobacco weren't marked, so she could give them away, but the booze would have to be poured down the drain. It was a terrible waste, but she had no other option.

With her mind made up, she quickly filled her handbag and a shopping bag with the cigarettes and tobacco pouches, which she would take to Peggy's as Christmas gifts. The cigarettes were Craven A, which was a luxurious brand, so they'd be a real treat, and Ron would appreciate the tobacco.

With a puzzled Monty trailing her footsteps, she carried armfuls of bottles into the kitchen, tracking back and forth between the rooms many times before all the boxes were empty. Opening two bottles at a time, she watched the alcohol glug down the sink.

By the time all the bottles were empty, her kitchen smelled like the bar downstairs, so she sloshed bleach down the sink and put the window on the latch whilst she ran down to get a crate from the cellar. Stacking the bottles into it, she now had the dilemma of how to dispose of them. She couldn't just put them with the other empties for the brewery to collect, for they'd be spotted immediately. Nor could she put them in the dustbin. That many bottles would arouse the suspicions of even the slowest-witted dustman.

‘What to do, Monty?' she asked frantically.

Monty whined and wagged his tail.

Rosie looked at the pup and then back to the crate of bottles. The council tip would have been the sensible answer, but it was right on the northernmost corner of Cliffehaven, and she couldn't walk that far in the blackout carrying that loaded crate, for there were too many wardens and nosy parkers about.

Then she had a sudden brainwave. ‘We'll bury them in the back garden,' she said to the pup, who looked back at her in puzzlement.

Quickly changing out of her good clothes, she pulled on an old pair of slacks, a sweater, headscarf and flat shoes. Carrying the heavy crate downstairs, she locked the side door so Tommy couldn't get in while she was busy hiding his ill-gotten hoard, then went down to the cellar to find the spade.

She slid back the bolts on the back door and stepped out into the gloomy winter afternoon of her dank and neglected patch of garden. With a glance up at the neighbour's window, she was thankful to see that the blackouts had been drawn so there was little likelihood of the old trout seeing what she was up to.

Deciding that the best place to bury everything would be beneath the flagstone path, she put down the crate and began to prise the slabs up with the corner of the spade. It wasn't as tough as she'd expected, because all the rain they'd had recently had softened the ground, and she soon had a square cleared so she could begin to dig down.

Monty sat and watched her, head on one side, eyes questioning.

Rosie ignored him and dug deeper until she was satisfied that the hole was big enough. She was tempted to smash the bottles so they were made smaller, but that sort of noise at this time of the evening would surely bring her nosy neighbour to the window.

She was perspiring now, despite the bitter, buffeting wind, but at last all the bottles lay in the hole. Covering them with the earth, she tamped it down hard and then winced in pain as she tore a nail whilst placing the flagstones on top. Seething with pain and fury, she stamped repeatedly on the flagstones until she was satisfied they were evenly balanced with the rest.

Out of breath and spurred on by her rage, she shovelled the remaining earth under the privet hedge, shoved a few bits of moss between the slabs and stood back to check that everything looked as it should. But the gathering darkness made it difficult to see anything, so at first light tomorrow morning, she'd have to come out and check that she'd left no evidence behind of her evening's work.

‘Come on, Monty. Back indoors while I get washed and changed, then it's off to Peggy's. I don't want to be here when Tommy gets back, because if I see him, I'll ruddy well kill him.'

She bolted the back door, tossed the spade and the empty crate down into the cellar and went upstairs to wash her hands before she restacked the shoeboxes at the back of the wardrobe. He'd get a nasty shock the next time he opened them, and that was a fact. It would no doubt cause endless trouble too, but she was more than ready to fight her corner.

THE WONDERFUL MEAL
was over and even Harvey was too full and lazy to move from his comfortable place beneath the table. Now their glasses had been filled so they could listen to the King's speech and give the loyal toast. As they waited for the announcer to introduce him, the men stood respectfully to attention, and Peggy watched everyone's faces, knowing how important this moment was for all of them.

And then the hesitant, rather solemn voice of King George came into the room.

‘It is at Christmas more than at any other time that we are conscious of the dark shadow of war,' he began. ‘Our Christmas festival today must lack many of the happy, familiar features that it has had from our childhood. We miss the actual presence of some of those nearest and dearest, without whom our family gatherings cannot be complete.'

The tears were already welling and Peggy reached for Cissy's hand to let her know that she shared in the sadness of missing Jim and the rest of their family.

‘But though its outward observances may be limited,' the King continued, ‘the message of Christmas remains eternal and unchanged. It is a message of thankfulness and of hope – of thankfulness to the Almighty for His great mercies, of hope for the return to this earth of peace and goodwill. In this spirit I wish all of you a happy Christmas.'

‘And to you, sir,' said Martin as he and everyone else raised their glasses.

‘This year it adds to our happiness that we are sharing it with so many of our comrades-in-arms from the United States of America. We welcome them in our homes, and their sojourn here will not only be a happy memory for us, but, I hope, a basis of enduring understanding between our two peoples.'

‘Here, here,' said Ron as the glasses rose again in a toast to Randy and Captain Hammond, who looked suddenly rather bashful.

There was utter silence as the King continued to speak of the victories that had been won that year, and of his confidence in the future now the British forces had been fortified by the massive armies of the United States. He spoke of the blows that had been struck by the armies of the Soviet Union against the German invasion, and of the counter-strikes of the Australian and American forces in the Pacific.

Peggy sat forward in her chair and gripped Cissy's hand as he continued, ‘India, now still threatened with Japanese invasion, has found in her loyal fighting men more than a million strong champions to stand at the side of the British Army in defence of Indian soil.'

She looked down at Jim's garnet ring and blinked away her tears as the King talked of the tasks ahead, which might prove harder than those already accomplished – and was heartened by his confidence in the future, for they no longer stood alone and ill-armed, and their resolve had not been shaken despite all they'd been through.

As he went on to talk to those listening from overseas, she was forcefully reminded of how vital it was to defend even the remotest part of the Empire, for its value was beyond price.

‘Wherever you are serving in our wide, free Commonwealth of Nations you will always feel “at home”. Though severed by the long sea miles of distance you are still in the family circle, whose ties, precious in peaceful years, have been knit even closer by danger. The Queen and I feel most deeply for all of you who have lost or been parted from your dear ones, and our hearts go out to you with sorrow, with comfort, but also with pride.'

Peggy's tears were running freely now as she thought of her two lost nephews, of Jim out at sea somewhere, and her children and grandchildren so far away in Somerset – and of the many friends that Cissy and Martin would never see again. The toll of this war was already too great, but Peggy knew that not one of them in this room today would ever contemplate surrendering.

As the King finished his address by asking them to welcome the future in a spirit of brotherhood so they may live together in justice and peace, Peggy helped a tearful Cordelia to her feet as they all stood and raised their glasses.

‘To the King – and to peace,' they chorused.

There was a long moment of silent contemplation before Martin broke the spell by going across the room to the gramophone. Having wound it up, he placed a record on the turntable and carefully set the stylus down. The lively sound of one of the big bands filled the room and slowly but surely the youngsters took to the floor.

Peggy mopped away her tears, blew her nose and decided it was time to pull herself together and make a pot of tea for herself and Cordelia. The rich food and alcohol was beginning to take its toll on both of them, and now the youngsters had the gramophone going, she was in danger of getting a headache.