Sealed With a Loving Kiss (29 page)

She was blessed, really, for most babies would have been screaming by now after such a disturbed night – but then Daisy possessed a pair of very strong lungs and a furious temper when she was thwarted, so she wasn't absolutely perfect – just as near perfect as she could be. She kissed the sweet, slumbering face, stroked her dark curls and left the room, more than ready for her share of stew.

It didn't take long to scrape the bowls clean and mop up the last vestiges of the stew with the gritty bread, and because it was now almost midnight and everyone was exhausted, it was time for bed. ‘The washing-up can wait until morning,' said Peggy. ‘Sleep well, girls.'

They kissed her goodnight and Peggy helped Cordelia out of her chair and up the stairs. Having made sure she was settled and warm, she went back to the kitchen to dampen down the fire and turn off the lights.

Harvey was snoring on the rug, his paws scrabbling as he dreamed of catching rabbits, and Peggy envied the ease with which he managed to drop off. She still found it difficult to come to terms with sleeping alone and would often lie awake for hours despite being exhausted.

She was about to turn out the light and go to her own bedroom when Ron came back into the kitchen. ‘Peggy,' he said solemnly, ‘I know you must be tired, but there's something we need to discuss, and I'm sorry, but it won't wait until morning.'

Immediately alarmed, she sat down at the table. ‘What is it, Ron? What's happened?'

‘Nothing – as yet. But I overheard something today, and I think it's important you should know about it before you go and see Rosie tomorrow afternoon.'

Peggy felt the colour drain from her face and she clasped her hands tightly on the table so they wouldn't tremble. ‘Go on.'

As Ron recounted what he'd learned, and the conversation he'd had with Rosie, Peggy's dread grew heavier. ‘I knew about the contraband – I've got a suitcase full of cigarettes and tobacco on top of my wardrobe,' she said almost dismissively as she tried desperately to think how to say what she needed without giving too much away. ‘But it's vital Rosie doesn't broach the subject of Cyril with Mary.' She reached across the table and gripped his hand. ‘It could destroy her, Ron.'

Ron's blue eyes sharpened beneath his lowering brows. ‘If this is going to hurt my Rosie, then I'm thinking it's time you told me the secrets you've been keeping, Peggy Reilly.' His gaze never wavered. ‘And don't deny it, girl. I know you too well.'

Peggy regarded him in silence for a moment, and then came to the only sensible conclusion open to her. It was indeed time to tell Ron, for Rosie would need support from them both to help her through the dreadful inevitability of what was about to come.

Her tears were not for herself, but for Rosie, as she revealed the truth of what had happened all those years ago. And yet, by the time she'd reached the end of the tragic story, she felt unburdened finally, for she'd carried that secret for too long.

Ron took her hands and grasped them tightly, his face etched with pain, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Mother of God, Peggy,' he rasped. ‘She's been carrying that inside for all these years?' He paused a moment to get his emotions under control. ‘But she has to know, Peggy. You realise that, don't you?'

Peggy nodded.

‘And so does Mary,' he added softly.

‘No, Ron,' she moaned. ‘It would be too unkind after everything she's been through.' She clutched at his hands. ‘Couldn't we just persuade Rosie to say nothing to her – to leave things as they are?'

He gave a deep sigh and then came round the table to draw Peggy into his arms. ‘You know that would be impossible once Rosie knows the truth, Peg.' He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head as his rough old hands gently stroked her hair.

‘But it would be so cruel – not only to Mary, but to Rosie too,' she sobbed. ‘Oh, Ron, I just don't know what to do for the best.'

His voice was a deep rumble in his chest as he continued to hold her. ‘You know, Peggy darlin', cruelty often lies in the well-meaning silence, not in the barbs of truth, and there have been enough lies and secrets. It's time to cauterise this wound that has been festering over the years, and to make a fresh start.'

THEIR RESCUE FROM
the bomb-blasted shelter had come even before the all-clear had sounded, and as the men and women from the fire brigade and rescue services had dug away the debris, Mary and Ivy had closed their eyes against the bright lights of their lamps. They'd emerged into the night to discover it was snowing, and they'd lifted their faces to it, revelling in its cool, soft touch as they'd breathed in the cold, clean air that burned its way through their raw throats and into aching lungs.

After Rita had checked to see that both of them were all right, she'd sent them over to a girl from the ambulance service, who'd inspected their cuts and bruises, declared them to be minor and dabbed them with iodine.

‘Perhaps this'll mean we don't 'ave to finish our shift,' said Ivy as she'd woefully inspected her ripped dungarees and bloody knee.

They hadn't noticed the doughty figure of Sergeant Norris, and her booming voice had made them both jump. ‘Production does not come to a halt because you've got a grazed knee.' She was sporting a bandaged wrist and a black eye, and her usually pristine army uniform was torn and dirty – but her paradeground manner remained intact. ‘Wash your hands and faces and get back to your posts immediately.'

Mary and Ivy had rolled their eyes at one another and then hurried through the swirling snow to their separate factories. Any hopes of a cup of tea or a proper wash had been dashed.

Billy Watson might only have been seventeen, but he knew when he was on to a good thing. He'd spent the past three hours chatting up Marlene as they'd sat in the public air-raid shelter, and she'd proved to be a right little smasher who could be easily persuaded to partake in a bit of slap and tickle. Now he was leading her down the quiet alleyway which just happened to be on the way to her billet.

She complained a bit about the cold, for there was snow on the ground and it was still coming down quite heavily. But he promised he'd soon warm her up as he kissed her and shuffled her back into the deeper darkness, his hand already exploring the delicious flesh between stocking top and knicker-leg. It was a curse not to be able to take girls back to his room, but his mum would blow a fuse if she caught them and he was in too much of a hurry to try and find somewhere else.

He was about to press her up against the wall when she stumbled over something and gave a cry of fright. ‘What's that? Oh, Billy, I don't like it 'ere. Can't we go somewhere else?'

‘You're safe with me, darling,' he said as he urgently pressed himself against her and scrabbled to get into her knickers. ‘It's only a pile of rubbish.'

She twisted away from him. ‘I don't like it, Billy. It pongs, and I'm freezing me tits off.'

Frustration made him sharp with her. ‘Then shut up and let me warm them,' he rasped as he made a grab for her.

The soft groan stilled them.

‘What were that?'

He prickled with unease as his desire fled. ‘I dunno,' he whispered as he dug in his pocket for the small torch he always carried.

‘Let's get outta here, Billy,' she whimpered. ‘I don't like it.'

There was another groan, and Billy was rigid with fear as he fumbled to switch on the torch. He didn't like it either, but he wasn't about to make a fool of himself in front of Marlene.

The pale beam swept across the scattered litter and overflowing dustbins in the narrow alley, catching the tail of a swiftly disappearing rat.

Marlene squealed and grabbed his arm, making the beam flash back and forth over something sticking out of the snow-covered rubbish. ‘What was that?' she demanded, her voice high-pitched with fear.

Billy's hand was shaking so much the beam danced over the exposed leg and foot. ‘Christ Almighty,' he breathed as the full import of what he was seeing sank in.

Marlene began to scream, and Billy clamped his hand over her mouth. ‘Shut up or we'll have the coppers on us,' he hissed as his terrified gaze remained on the snow-covered body.

Billy had never seen a dead person before, and although in some macabre way he found it fascinating, he was loath to approach it. He stood transfixed, his hand pressed against Marlene's mouth as she tried to fight him off and scream her lungs out.

It was only when the body moved with a groan that Billy released his hold on Marlene. As her piercing screams echoed into the night, his courage failed, and he took flight.

Ron hadn't slept well, for he was a man who knew too much – and yet he had no possible way of putting things right for either Rosie or Mary. He'd tossed and turned as he'd thumped his pillow and tried to force himself into sleep, but his overactive mind refused to be still. So many pieces of the puzzle had finally slotted into place, but there were many more which simply didn't fit, no matter how hard he tried – and it was those pieces that made him dread the coming day.

He'd eventually become impatient with his thoughts and the inability to sleep, so he'd climbed out of bed and quietly left Beach View with Harvey to go to the Anchor. There had been no sign of life upstairs, for it was only just light and Rosie was probably still asleep, so he'd taken Monty with him and had spent the past two hours tramping the hills with the dogs.

He could think up there in the settled silence of those ancient hills, which were now dusted with a thick coating of snow that glittered in the rising sun, making everything as pretty as a frosted Christmas card. The temperature was slightly warmer now the snow had come, and as the dogs had raced about in delight, he'd let his mind wander until he'd found a way through the labyrinth of knowledge he'd acquired over the past twenty-four hours. The solution, he realised, was ridiculously simple – but he would have to apply it with great care.

The Town Hall clock struck seven as Ron headed towards Camden Road and the Anchor. He usually stopped in to have a cup of tea with Rosie after he'd walked the dogs, but since Tommy had moved in that pleasant ritual had sadly come to an end. It was hard enough to stomach Tommy any time of the day, but first thing in the morning was too much to ask, and he deeply resented the loss of those precious quiet times with his Rosie.

As Harvey and Monty watered the lamp-posts and walls and dashed back and forth, Ron strolled along with his hands in his pockets, his mind going over his plan, testing it for flaws until he was absolutely certain that nothing could go wrong.

‘Hello, Ron. Long time no see.'

Ron was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't seen his old friend and fellow Somme survivor, Sergeant Albert Williams, walking towards him. Bert was in his sixties and should have retired from the police years ago, but the war had meant he'd stayed on. He was an imposing figure in his uniform, and was an expert at sniffing out trouble. But he'd never risen any higher in the ranks, for he wasn't an ambitious man and preferred being in the thick of it on the streets rather than behind a desk.

‘Hello, Bert,' he replied as they shook hands. ‘It's a bit early for you, isn't it?'

Bert nodded solemnly. ‘I'm sorry, Ron, but I've had a bit of bad news for your Rosie.'

Ron felt a stab of fear that was mingled with a selfish hope that Rosie's insane husband had finally died. ‘What news?'

‘Her brother was found just before midnight in an alleyway. He'd been well and truly beaten, and if he'd stayed there much longer in the snow he'd have frozen to death.' Bert knew Tommy of old and there was very little sympathy in his ruddy face.

Ron glanced up to the window above the pub sign. ‘How did Rosie take the news?'

‘She was a bit shocked to begin with – well, it's not the sort of thing one expects to hear first thing in the morning, is it? But she made me a cup of tea, and seemed perfectly all right by the time I left. In fact, she told me she wouldn't be visiting him in hospital, and that as far as she was concerned they could keep him in for as long as they wanted.'

‘Prison would be the best place for him,' muttered Ron. ‘But we can't always get what we wish for, can we?'

Bert smiled in agreement before he regarded Ron thoughtfully. ‘I know you and he have had your run-ins, and I can't say I blame you – he's a toerag of the first water. But you wouldn't happen to know anything about this beating, would you, Ron?'

He shook his head. ‘Regretfully not, Bert. Though I've been tempted many a time, believe you me.' He looked back at his reliable old friend, who'd turned a blind eye on many occasions in return for a nice bit of salmon or a bottle of French brandy. This was an auspicious meeting, for it meant his plan could now be put into place immediately. ‘But Rosie's all right, is she? Not too upset?'

Bert grinned. ‘As right as rain, and as lovely as always. I envy you, mate. She's quite a sight in that silky dressing gown, isn't she?'

Ron chuckled. ‘To be sure, she is, but I'm thinking your Betsy would not be pleased to hear you saying that.' He pulled his pipe out of his pocket, remembered he had only the illicit tobacco to fill it with, and stuffed it away again. ‘Tell me, Bert. How long is Tommy expected to stay in hospital?'

‘He should probably be in there for a week or so. The beating was very severe and left him as swollen and split as an old football, with three cracked ribs, a broken nose and leg, and at least two missing teeth. But they're stretched to breaking point as it is, and the ward sister told me he'll be given a series of out-patient appointments and be discharged later today.'

‘Did you manage to get a statement from him?'

Bert shook his head. ‘And I don't expect to. He might be as crooked as a nine-bob note, but he's not stupid. That beating was enough to keep his mouth well and truly shut.'