Broken Rainbows (8 page)

He frowned. If anything, the captain was worse than the lieutenant. At least Schaffer was honest about his womanising. A girl would have to be stupid not to see through his line, but Reide was more subtle. He'd heard some odd stories about the man, mostly from reliable sources. Making a mental note to give him the same lecture he had given Schaffer, he was just about to ask Bethan to dance again when the doors burst open behind them.

‘It's D'Este. Hi, D'Este, over here,' Chuck shouted, waving at the officer who stood framed in the doorway. Heads turned, the women's eyes widening at the sight of the exotically handsome officer. Dropping his kitbag in the corner he waved back.

‘Is he … is he a
Negro
?' Mrs Llewellyn-Jones enquired in a stage whisper that carried around the table.

‘Negroes are generally a lot darker than Captain D'Este, ma'am,' Chuck replied, when he saw the colonel had no intention of answering her.

‘He's a spic,' Richard Reide declared contemptuously.

‘I don't think I've heard of them. Are they an African tribe?'

‘Hispanic. Of Spanish origin. In Captain D'Este's case, Cuban,' Chuck explained, giving Richard a warning look.

‘Probably with a touch of Indian, maybe even the tarbrush.' Reide reached for the whiskey bottle.

‘Leave the liquor alone if you can't hold it, Captain,' David Ford warned brusquely as he rose to his feet. ‘It's good to see you again, Captain D'Este.' He turned to the table, eyeing Mrs Llewellyn-Jones in particular. ‘Captain D'Este is one of our best surgeons.'

‘A doctor.' She extended her hand warily.

‘You've come to work in the RAF hospital in Church Village?' Dr John asked.

‘There and Pontypridd and District Hospital, sir.'

‘I'm one of the local doctors …'

‘It's been such a lovely evening. Must we spoil it by discussing medical matters?' his wife complained irritably.

‘Sir. Ma'am,' the captain shook both their hands. ‘I'm pleased to meet you both.'

‘We must get together, Captain -'

His wife interrupted by tapping him sharply on the arm with her fan. ‘The band's starting up again and I'd like to dance.'

Sensitive to her mother-in-law's lack of courtesy, Bethan held out her hand. ‘I'm Bethan John, one of the district nurses.'

The captain murmured ‘Pleased to meet you', in a tone that suggested his mind was elsewhere. Taking the chair the waiter brought for him, he turned to the colonel. ‘I only got my orders this morning, sir. They told me you'd be able to sort out a billet for me when I reached here.'

‘No room with us,' Richard Reide said firmly.

‘We could manage,' Chuck Reynolds contradicted strongly.

‘No need. That's if you have no objection to a fifth man moving into our rooms, Mrs John?'

‘Not at all, Colonel.' Aware that something was wrong, but uncertain exactly what, Bethan smiled at the captain.

‘Thank you, ma'am.' D'Este looked up as an officer escorted Jane back to their table. She was smiling, her thin face flushed with the heat of the room, her gold silk dress clinging to her scrawny frame. She saw the captain the same instant he saw her. Bethan glanced from one to the other, convinced that everyone else at the table must have sensed the change in the atmosphere. It was almost as though an electric current had charged the air linking them.

‘Captain D'Este, Mrs Jane Powell.' David Ford effected the introduction with the slightest of stresses on the word, Mrs, and Bethan realised that he too had seen the attraction.

Recollecting himself, the captain held out his hand. ‘Mrs Powell.'

‘Captain D'Este.' Jane's cheeks darkened from pink to crimson as she took her seat.

‘You're a surgeon?' Bethan asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the table.

‘I was studying at a unit that specialises in the facial reconstruction of accident and burns victims when I was drafted.'

The band stopped playing and conversation ceased as applause filled the room.

‘Mrs Powell, may I have the next dance?' He held out his arm to Jane.

‘He's certainly very good-looking for a darkie, and he's obviously done well for himself,' Mrs Llewellyn-Jones observed to no one in particular as D'Este led Jane on to the floor.

Anthea's frown turned to laughter as Richard Reide whispered in her ear before leading her away.

Bethan watched Jane dance with the captain. She hadn't seen her sister-in-law smile quite so broadly since Haydn's last leave. Perhaps it was time to write to her brother and suggest he press for another one.

‘Begging your pardon, ma'am, I would have knocked if I'd known someone was sitting in here.'

Megan Powell lifted her slippered feet from the hearth of Bethan's kitchen range and turned to see a plump, middle-aged man standing in the doorway.

‘And I thought all the Americans were at the parties.'

‘I'm a bit long in the tooth for socials.'

‘Join the club.' Megan set the Marie Corelli novel she'd borrowed from the library on the table. ‘I've just made some tea, would you like some?'

‘Colonel Ford's got strong views on us eating into the natives' rations.'

‘Oh, I think we can manage a cup of tea.' Megan lifted crockery down from the dresser. ‘I'm Megan Powell, Bethan's aunt and babysitter for the evening.'

‘Nurse Powell?'

‘My, you fellows are formal, aren't you?'

‘The colonel's warned us not to impose on the family.'

‘From what the children have been telling me, your imposition involves making bucketloads of biscuits and pancakes, and spoiling them at every turn.' She set the cup on the table and poured the tea. ‘Are you the cook?'

‘Sergeant Dino Morelli, ma' am.'

‘I'm not a ma'am, I'm a Megan, and if you don't mind me saying so, the American army must be more desperate than the British, conscripting a man of your age.'

‘I'm a volunteer and I'm forty.'

‘And I'm twenty-one next birthday.' Megan settled back into the rocking chair. ‘Well sit down, there's no point in standing up to drink tea.'

‘Thank you … Megan.' He took the easy chair opposite hers.

‘It's warmer in here than the sitting room. I never could understand Andrew John buying a place this size for Bethan. The rooms are so big they were always cold even before fuel rationing. He should have known he'd married a girl with simple tastes, but then that's the crache for you. All show and no comfort, that's what I always say.'

‘I take it the “crache” are the blue bloods of Pontypridd?'

‘You pick up fast.'

‘This is a fine house,' he commented looking up at the high ceiling, and the two vast dressers filled with painted china.

‘If you have the money and servants to run it and the coal to heat it. Bethan's found it tough going the last few years.'

‘She's a nice lady.'

‘She is.'

‘I have a niece about her age. I left her in charge of my diner … a sort of café,' he explained in answer to her puzzled look.

‘You have a business?'

‘Back in a small town on Cape Cod. You heard of Cape Cod?'

Megan shook her head.

‘It's in Massachusetts. Pretty place, and as you'd guess from the name, surrounded by sea. My wife fell in love with it. She used to summer there every year with her folks, and when we married she decided we should settle there. By that time I'd learned not to argue with her. We worked in a seafood restaurant until we got enough money together to open a place of our own. Didn't do too badly either.' He stared down into his cup, lost in a time and place she could only guess at. It took him a few minutes to recollect her presence. ‘Aside from the diner we opened a small restaurant on a prime piece of real estate overlooking the beach. It was the kind of place Bostonians and New Yorkers didn't mind paying to eat in. We made enough money to buy a house with sea views, a car and a boat. You can't be a someone on the Cape and not own a boat. But, we never found the time to go out in it.'

‘Sounds like you miss your home?'

‘That I do, Megan.'

‘So why volunteer for the army? No one could criticise a man your age for taking it easy.'

‘It seemed the right thing to do. I don't like bullies, and this fellow Hitler's certainly behaving like one.' He made a wry face as he set his cup on the table.

‘You don't like tea?'

‘I prefer coffee.' He emptied his pockets of tins. ‘As you see, I brought all the ingredients except hot water.'

‘Help yourself.' She pushed her chair away from the range as he picked up the kettle.

‘You got anyone fighting in the war, Megan?'

‘My son, William. As far as we can tell he's in North Africa.'

‘You must be worried about him?'

‘Me and his wife. You have no idea how much. I lost my husband in the last war.'

‘You must have been widowed young.'

‘Twenty.'

‘I thought the end of the world had come when I lost my wife three years ago. At least we had twenty-two years together.' He shook his head as he opened up the hot plate with the tongs and set the kettle to boil. ‘Such a waste of young men's lives.'

‘And it's still going on.'

‘Auntie Megan?' Rachel opened the door and peeped around the corner, her nightgown trailing around her ankles, a doll clutched in her hand.

‘What are you doing up, poppet?' Megan opened her arms and Rachel ran into the room and climbed on to her lap.

‘I can't sleep, and Mam's bed is empty.'

‘She'll be back soon.' Reaching for the blanket folded on the brass log box, Megan wrapped it around her great-niece and began rocking the chair.

‘You've got your hands full.'

‘The way I like them filled.' Megan returned his smile.

‘I hope everyone's having a good time.'

Megan thought of the excitement on Maisie's and Liza's faces as they'd left the house, and remembered her own girlhood. ‘I'm sure they are,' she murmured, hugging Rachel closer.

*……*……*

‘I think we should go straight home,' Liza suggested primly, as Maurice led the way out of the Coronation ballroom.

‘We have to,' Maurice agreed. ‘I've got to get back to the New Inn at twelve to pick up the CO.'

‘Come on, five minutes ain't going to make no difference,' Manny Rodriguez coaxed as he tightened his grip around Maisie's waist.

‘You know what a stickler for punctuality the old man is.'

‘Tell you what, how about I take the girls home with you?'

‘I don't think so. Colonel Ford gave me permission to take the ladies home in the car, but no one else.'

‘Who in hell is going to see us in this blackout?' Manny demanded. ‘There isn't even a moon. There and back. It's not as if anyone else is about. You had to be the first to leave.'

‘So I could take Liza and Maisie home. I promised Nurse John that I'd …'

‘OK, Duval, keep your hair on. Where's the car?'

Maurice hesitated, relenting only when Liza's small, cold hand slipped into his. ‘All right, just this once, but if the old man catches us …'

‘He won't. God you're a worrier, Duval.' As soon as they reached the car, Manny opened the back door and pushed Maisie inside, following quickly before either of the girls could suggest that they sit together in the back.

Maurice climbed into the front seat and hit the ignition. After flicking the switch that illuminated the single, heavily hooded headlight he set off cautiously into the darkness.

‘So, Maisie, we are going to be friends, aren't we?' Manny whispered close to her ear so neither Maurice nor Liza could overhear him above the noise of the engine.

‘I hope so,' she said warily, moving as far from him as the seat would allow as he tried to slide his hand under her skirt.

‘How about me picking you up tomorrow evening around seven?'

She clamped her hand firmly over his. ‘There'll be none of that.'

‘Have a heart. I'm a lonely serviceman far from friends and home, and you're a gorgeous girl …'

‘Once more and I'll slap you.'

‘Tomorrow?' he repeated, peering through the gloom as Maurice changed gear in preparation for the steepest part of the hill. ‘You'll meet me tomorrow? I've got a pass, and the money to take you wherever you want to go.'

‘I don't like fast men.' Maisie dug her nails into the back of his hand as his fingers strayed once more to her knee.

‘Ouch!'

‘You all right in the back?' Maurice asked as he slowed to a crawl, looking for the entrance to the driveway to the house.

‘Fine, just hit my hand on something sharp.'

‘Check it out, will you? The old man …'

‘… won't have my problems.' Manny retreated to suck his wounds.

‘Here we are.' Maurice turned the car into the drive and pulled up outside the front door.

‘Thank you for bringing us home.' Liza fumbled for the door handle.

‘Give us two minutes, pal.' Manny followed Maisie, who'd been quicker than Liza, out of the car.

‘Two minutes is all you've got,' Maurice called back softly. Leaning across Liza he opened the door for her, starting back nervously when he accidentally brushed his arm against her breast. ‘I'm sorry,' he apologised, glad of the darkness that concealed his burning cheeks.

‘That's all right. You didn't mean to do it.'

‘No.' The silence closed in on them, tense and suffocating despite the chill in the air. He tried to distinguish Manny and Maisie's shadows in the darkness that shrouded the front door, but it was impossible. They had merged into the grey-black mass of the house.