‘So – what d’you think?’
‘What about?’ Joe looked puzzled. The ruby bar brooch, which Janet had pinned to the neck of her beige cardigan, in celebration of Christmas, or some more private reason, caught his eye. He touched it. ‘Very pretty,’ he said.
‘No – not the brooch, silly.’ Janet smiled. She found the smallest measure of attention from Joe intoxicating. It made her daring. ‘The lipstick.’
‘It’ll take some getting used to,’ he said. ‘You know what I am: man of habit. Slow to change.’
This, in Janet’s eyes, was approbation enough. Suffused with pleasure, she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, a dreamy smile slipping this way and that.
‘I thought you’d like it.’
‘Come along with those glasses, Janet,’ snapped Mrs Lawrence. ‘They’re needed on the dining-room table.’ She gave an impatient stir to the gravy. Spots flew over the side of the pan and landed with an angry sizzle on the top of the stove.
‘Sorry, Mrs Lawrence,’ Janet murmured, still impervious to the sharp voice of her future mother-in-law. ‘I’m all of a dither, this lipstick.’
After Christmas lunch – which, due to Mrs Lawrence’s careful husbandry turned out to be a pre-war affair – Stella excused
herself
as soon as possible to start on the afternoon milk. She could not bear to watch Joe undoing the parcel Janet had brought him – a pair of Fair Isle socks she had taken months to knit in between working on socks for the Forces. She had no wish to watch Janet’s reaction to the box of four handkerchiefs Joe had bought her, nor witness the struggle over plans for the afternoon. She knew having a few hours alone with Joe was Janet’s intention, and sensed the reluctance to comply with any such thing on Joe’s part.
Stella devoted most of her Christmas afternoon to hard work with the cows. By early evening she was exhausted. She went upstairs to lie down for an hour before changing out of her working clothes for supper. Janet was sitting in her now customary position, ankles just touching, on Prue’s bed. She was near to tears.
‘Oh, Stella. I’m glad you’re back.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘We went out in the car. Joe likes driving the Austin. After a while I said, why don’t we stop, Joe, study the view? He looked at me, honestly, as if I was mad. He said when he had a chance to drive a nice car, he wanted to drive, not look at a view. I think he must have guessed what I was hinting at … Well, eventually we did stop, in a gateway, not at all private, no view. I gave him the box of chocolates I’d brought – I wanted it to be a small, private present, and my goodness, it went down much better than the socks. He seemed really pleased. You’re a good girl, Janet, he said, and patted my knee.
There
, he said. He began on the chocolates. I refused to have one. I wanted to take my chance.’
Here, a single tear ran down Janet’s cheek. She quickly wiped it away with one of the childish handkerchiefs that had been Joe’s present to her, and gave a brave little grin.
‘Anyhow, I said, things don’t seem to be going too well, Joe. We never seem to have the chance to talk, and you hardly ever write. I’m not complaining, I said, but I always supposed when people were engaged they wanted to be in touch. And then, when they met, they were pleased to see each other. Joe was on to his fourth chocolate, by now, a rose cream. You must give me time, he said. I’m
sorry
, he said. But somehow it didn’t sound very convincing. After that, he concentrated on that little map – you know, saying what’s inside the chocolates. Then he said, the thing was he had a lot on his mind, or words to that effect, that he didn’t want to talk about. Not even to me, Joe? I said. Not even to you, he said.’ Another tear appeared. ‘But I do understand, I said. Of course I understand. I know how fed up you were not being able to go and fight. I know how disappointed you were not to be able to go to Cambridge. They’re big things to cope with. But you could always go to Cambridge at the end of the war: we could
live
in Cambridge, I said, and he just looked out of the side window so I couldn’t see his face.’
Janet paused, made sure of the sympathy still in Stella’s eyes.
‘Then – and please don’t tell the others – I made my mistakes. I said, Joe, have things changed because of the land girls? I’d quite understand if you’d fallen in love with the Prudence girl. She’s so pretty and bright … He looked at me again, as if I was off my head: quite comforting, I suppose that was. Don’t be ridiculous, he said. I like them all in their different ways and I don’t know what we’d have done without them. But I’m not in love with Prue – the idea has never crossed my mind. He gave a kind of a smile at such a ridiculous thought, which sort of cheered me up. But I could see that I’d also annoyed him. So then I said, trying to sound bright and light-hearted: and how did you like my lipstick? You couldn’t really say, earlier, in front of the others. Silly of me to have asked then. This time he turned to me quite fiercely, his mouth full of chocolate. There’s no point in trying to ape the others, he said. You’re not that kind of girl. I like you best as you always are, unadorned. A scarlet mouth doesn’t suit you, if you want the truth. I just thought, I said, it might make you want to kiss me … It did just the reverse, as a matter of fact, he said, so cruelly – I know he didn’t mean to be cruel – I had to hold myself in not to cry. So I took out this handkerchief’ – she held up the damp, pinkish screwed-up ball – ‘still fresh from its box, and wiped all the lipstick off in one go. There, I said, is that better?’
There was a long silence. Stella could see Janet no longer fought to ward off tears. Her struggle, rather, seemed to be to find the right words.
‘So he did kiss me. No words. Just a kiss on the mouth, his arm awkwardly round me. All the time, though, I felt there was something not quite right. I mean, I’m not experienced like I expect you and the others are. I don’t know about kissing. But I’d always imagined it would sort of be … warmer, somehow. I began to open my lips, like I’ve seen them do at the pictures, and he backed away. I didn’t let him see I was disappointed, of course: after all, it was the longest kiss we’ve ever had. I was very grateful. So I told him I loved him and he said, again, that I was a good girl, and started up the engine. On the way home I said that I thought it would be all right once we were married; waiting gets everybody down. And he said yes, once we were married everything would fall into place.’
‘So you must be happier,’ said Stella, after another long pause.
‘Well, I am and I’m not. I have faith in Joe, I don’t think he’ll let me down. Just be patient, I keep on telling myself, and we’ll end up married. But it’s hard not to suspect he doesn’t love me half as much as I love him, and never will. He doesn’t ever say how he feels, he just says he won’t let me down. Perhaps that’s all I should ask. I mean, goodness, I know how lucky I am – not exactly Veronica Lake and far from brilliant, and still a rare man like him, who could have anyone, chooses me. So all I can do is go on being sure, chasing away doubts while waiting for the war to end – there must be so many couples feeling just the same. I’m ashamed of feeling sorry for myself.’ She gave a dim smile. ‘And once we
are
married, not a day will go by when I don’t prove to him how much I love him. I think he’ll come to feel the same. I pray he will.’
‘It’s time,’ said Stella, ‘to go down to supper.’
Janet jumped up, smoothed out her skirt. ‘Do I look as if I’ve been crying?’
‘Let me put a touch of powder …’ Stella dabbed a powder puff under Janet’s eyes, and rouge on the pale cheeks. ‘If only Prue was here. She’s much better at this sort of thing. There, you look fine.’
Janet took a nervous glance in the hand mirror. ‘You’ve been so kind. I told Joe how kind you’ve been.’
‘I haven’t at all.’
‘You’ve listened. Hardly anyone listens. I wish I didn’t have to be off so early in the morning. It’s gone so fast, my stay. And there won’t be another moment to be with Joe alone. Mrs Lawrence says there’s a tradition of gin rummy on Christmas night, so I’ll have to put a brave face on for that.’
‘No cards for me,’ said Stella. I’m going to bed straight after supper. I want to make the best of my luxurious Christmas present from Joe.’
‘You mean the long lie-in while he does the milking? He can be very imaginative, sometimes, Joe.’ Janet looked so melancholy Stella feared more tears.
‘Come
on
,’ she said. ‘Devilled turkey and mince pies.’
‘At least Joe’ll be pleased,’ said Janet following Stella downstairs, ‘that I’m back to no lipstick again. That, at least, should make his Christmas. Funny old Joe.’
On Boxing Day morning, Stella slept till midday, unaware of Janet quietly packing her bag and leaving. She came down in time for lunch to find a lightness in the air: it could well have been her imagination, but the tension of the last two days, while the sad grey figure of Janet hovered about trying to help, doing her best to fit in, had lifted. The Lawrences chattered more easily. Joe, who had gone to visit Robert when he had finished with the cows, returned with the news that he had invited his friend to supper on New Year’s Eve.
‘I told him about the Red Cross party,’ he said. ‘With any luck, he’ll suggest to Prue they give it a try.’
His mother gave him a look.
In the afternoon, Stella helped Joe with the milking, and the delivery of the churns to the village. Mr and Mrs Lawrence went for a long walk with the dogs – another of their Christmas traditions. Joe invited Stella to his room to listen to some music but she said she must write a letter to Philip. The break in routine and the strangeness of a few hours’ rest during the daytime had begun to wane. She looked forward to the return of the others tomorrow, and the return to normal, disciplined days.
After supper Mrs Lawrence suggested that Joe went for a drink at The Bells, taking Stella.
‘It’s often quite cheerful up there, Boxing Night,’ she said, ‘and you haven’t had much fun.’
A couple of hours in the cold air had ruddied her wan cheeks. Stella guessed she would like an evening alone with her husband.
‘It’s been a lovely Christmas, but I’m all for a drink, if that’s what Joe would like,’ Stella replied.
They walked quickly up the lane. It was much colder than Christmas Eve, deep shadows sharp-edged under a full moon.
The bar at The Bells was warm and crowded. Paper chains and silver bells swooped between the low beams, and the landlord wore a paper hat.
‘Almost everyone from the village here,’ said Joe, looking round, ‘except Ratty and Edith. That augurs badly.’
He carried two glasses of mulled wine – seasonal speciality at The Bells – to a table near the fire, where a child, the landlord’s son, was roasting chestnuts. Joe helped Stella off with her coat. She sat back in the old oak chair, looking about, smiling. She felt no need to talk, as she had done in the pub in Plymouth, with Philip. Joe was not a man to be provoked by others’ silence. He remained unspeaking himself, eye on the door, hoping Ratty would appear. After a while he leaned towards Stella.
‘This bloody war,’ he said.
She knew, for him, all the things that meant, but judged it best to make some neutral reply.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’ve only had one real sighting of it. My mother – she works for the WVS as well as the Red Cross – was on duty at Victoria Station when the soldiers were returning from Dunkirk. She said I should come and help on her tea stall, it would be something I would never forget. At the station, there was chaos. Hundreds and hundreds of soldiers wandering about so shocked and exhausted they seemed almost to be sleepwalking. Many of them were bandaged up, wounded – the strong helping the weak. I handed a cup to one man, and he gave me twopence. No need, I said, it’s free.
Free?
he said, and tears poured down his stubbly cheeks. It was the first time I’d ever seen a man cry, the tears spilling down his greatcoat, running into the buttons … that was my only glimpse of the war. Otherwise, the nearest I’ve got to it was listening to my mother’s stories of the Blitz. At home we only had to go down into the cellar a couple of times during a raid. Here, at the farm, there’s such extraordinary peace it’s hard to believe the horrors of London, the big cities, the remote world.’
‘There’s always the tension, the uncertainty.’
‘There’s always that, yes. You remember it first thing every morning; you’re reminded by the odd screaming plane.’
‘Has its effects – the feeling nowhere is absolutely safe.’
‘Of course.’
‘Though, here, I think I’d be right in saying the arrival of you girls has been something of an antidote. It was a bad time before you came.’ Joe broke off at the sight of Ratty coming through the door. ‘Thank God for that,’ he said quietly, signalling to Ratty to come and join them.
The old man pushed his way through the crowd, Adam’s apple working furiously above his scarf, troubled eyes blinking. He drew up a chair. Joe went to fetch a pint of beer, and two more glasses of wine.
‘I’m later than I should be,’ said Ratty. ‘Edith’s on about something or other.’
‘You couldn’t persuade her out, then?’ asked Joe, on return, with a teasing smile.
‘You can say that again. She’s in one of her festive moods, all right. Thanks.’
The three of them sat quietly drinking. Their silence was broken by a sudden commotion in the crowd. There were shouts of encouragement. Stella saw an elderly man being hustled towards an even more ancient piano.
‘Told you.’ Joe smiled at Stella. ‘There’s music at The Bells. Hugh Wadley, there, is the keenest pianist for miles. He used to teach at a school in Dorchester.’
The sprightly old man settled himself at the piano, laid his hands on the keys. The notes were bruised, out of tune. At the sound of the imperfect chord, a frisson zipped down Stella’s spine. It was a long time since there had been any possibility of a musical evening. She was enjoying herself.
It’s a long way to Tipperary
, the drinkers round the piano began to sing. Stella, Joe and Ratty joined in. There was applause at the end of the song: much slapping on the back and cries of
Down with bloody Hitler
. Mr Wadley took a sip of beer, and looked towards the fire.