Lizzie's War (3 page)

‘Oh, I'll walk down to the pub for a pie and a pint,' he said. ‘Same as usual. I might listen to Dick Barton on the radio. My Madge used to like the concerts – Henry Hall and the like, but I don't bother much these days. Just the news now and then…'

Lizzie nodded, knowing that he still missed the wife he'd loved terribly. Her death in a fire caused by a gas explosion had shattered him. He'd lost his home that day too and for a while it had seemed that he'd no longer had the will to live, but working here with Lizzie he had found himself again. Yet she knew he must be lonely and she tried to invite him round every now and then even though she knew he was still grieving for his wife and didn't feel like going out much.

‘You know you're always welcome to come to us for a meal, Ed?'

‘Yes, I shall one Sunday…'

‘Make it this Sunday,' Lizzie said. Ed looked pleased as he nodded then turned and went up to his flat above the workrooms.

Lizzie locked up the workrooms. She was glad Ed had decided to come, because he spent too much time alone.

Lizzie understood his loneliness. Three months had passed since she'd last seen Sebastian… had those few days over Christmas been as wonderful as she remembered? Had he really held her close and told her she was the only woman he'd ever loved – and had he meant it? Would he come back to her when the war was over or would she wake up and discover it was a dream and he'd simply been flirting with her after all?

Sebastian Winters had always believed in Lizzie's talent. From the start he'd wanted her to work for him in his West End shop, to design beautiful hats for the wealthy clients he served, but she'd resisted. She'd thought he was a womanizer and would let her down, but she'd been wrong to listen to gossip as he'd turned out to be a better man than Harry. It was Sebastian who'd given her the courage to become what she'd always wanted to be – a designer of beautiful hats.

Lizzie had known that Sebastian wanted her, but she hadn't been sure just what that meant. If she'd trusted him at the start, refused to listen to idle talk she might have been his wife and her unhappy marriage would never have happened. She'd thought Harry loved her and she'd been grateful, eager to get away from the aunt who hated her, but Harry had set her on a pedestal and when he'd discovered the secret of her past, he'd been bitter and cruel in his disappointment. Sebastian knew nothing about the rape and miscarriage that had robbed Lizzie of more than a year of her life when she was fourteen and still an innocent child, of the months when she'd lain in hospital not knowing who she was or what had happened to her – she still didn't remember the attack, though she now knew that she'd been beaten and abused. For years she'd been allowed to believe that it was merely an accident and that was Uncle Jack's fault; he'd thought he was protecting her, but in the end her ignorance of the facts had led to unhappiness for both her and Harry. He'd thought her a virgin and when he'd discovered the truth he'd been so hurt and angry that it had destroyed their chance of happiness.

She would have to tell Sebastian the truth one day, but somehow she didn't think he would react as Harry had when he learned the truth on their wedding night. Sebastian didn't see her as some kind of a Vestal virgin – he thought of her as a desirable, talented woman he loved and wanted. He'd encouraged her talent for designing beautiful hats, and asked her to work for him, but she'd thought he was merely flirting. How she wished she'd waited instead of rushing into marriage with Harry, out of gratitude and loneliness.

Oh, how she wished Sebastian would be waiting for her when she got home! She wanted to have him close, to make a warm comfortable nest for them, and her lovely Betty, where they could be happy together as a family and all the pain and fear of the war would go away.

Home to Lizzie and Beth was the good solid house that her uncle had left her in his will, as recompense she sometimes thought. Uncle Jack had blamed himself for her accident, as he termed it, and his gift had made his wife Jane furious. She'd turned her hatred on Lizzie, almost ruining her life with her nagging and cruel accusations, but she was dead now and Lizzie had forgiven her. Her aunt had been a sad bitter woman and Lizzie couldn't hate her – even though what she'd done had contributed to Harry's jealousy. If only Lizzie had been told the truth about what had happened to her when she was fourteen, perhaps she would have found the courage to tell Harry before they married and everything would have been different. Yet a little voice in her head told her that her marriage had been a mistake, because she'd given into Harry's urgings before she'd known her own mind. She
had
loved him, but perhaps not enough to be his wife.

She pushed the regrets from her mind. It was time to go home to her friend and the children. Lizzie had offered Beth the chance to live with her when Beth's father had made it clear he didn't want her and her children living under his roof.

Beth wasn't married and Mr Court had taken offence at his daughter's loose behaviour. He'd been hostile to her, forbidding her mother to have her at home at the start, though he'd got over that once the children were born. There was a sort of truce between the two now, because he was fond of the twins even though he didn't say much to Beth. Even so, she preferred to live with Lizzie, at least until she married and Lizzie was certain Beth would marry in time, if only for the sake of her twins…and it was hard bringing up children on just her wage, even though they shared the expenses.

Suddenly, becoming aware of something, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder and shivered, because she'd had the sensation that she was being followed. The street was well lit and she saw the man clearly. He was standing next to a red telephone kiosk wearing a greatcoat, the collar turned up about his neck and a trilby hat pulled down low over his face so that it was in shadow. A trickle of ice ran down her spine, because she was fairly certain he'd followed her all the way from the showrooms.

For a moment the old fear flared up in her, the fear of being attacked as she'd been that night when she was fourteen, the fear she thought she'd conquered since she'd learned the truth. As she saw the tram draw to a halt at the stop, she ran to join the others crowding on. She didn't want to miss it and have to wait for ages when someone was lurking in the shadows.

‘Just caught it,' the tram conductor said and grinned at her. He was a friendly little man, in his seventies if he was a day, and enjoyed being called out to do essential work because the younger men had gone off to war. ‘Your old man will think you're never comin' home, love. You want to get in afore they start up – if they do tonight. Safe and tight with your family that's where you ought to be.'

‘I don't have a husband,' Lizzie said, glancing briefly over her shoulder but unable to see the man she was certain had followed her. ‘Just a sweetheart – and he's away.'

‘Well, poor devil, even if he's at the Front, he'd want you to be safe before those buggers get going…'

He was referring to the bombing, which had been horrific for months now. Sometimes the night sky would turn crimson with the glow of all the fires from incendiary bombs or the gas explosions they caused, and the emergency services were at full stretch, young women helping to drive the fire tenders and man the phones. You could never tell when Hitler's Luftwaffe would pay another little visit; if it wasn't London's docklands and factories, or the rows of back-to-back houses in the East End, it would be somewhere on the coast or one of the other big cities. Even Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament had been hit, though it was the docks and factories that were getting the worst of it. Parts of the East End had been reduced to piles of smouldering rubble, huge heaps of it where houses had stood, the families they sheltered left injured, dead or homeless. Some people camped out in the ruins, living like rats in the cellars, while others moved in with family elsewhere or wandered from shelter to shelter. Many others had simply deserted their lives and gone away, either to the country or, if they were young enough, to join the services and fight.

‘Yes,' Lizzie agreed. ‘I'm glad I did catch you. I think I was being followed…'

‘Followed, were you?' He looked concerned. ‘There's some funny types about these days… with the war an' all. He might 'ave been a spy. I'd give the so-and-so a good hiding if I got 'old of him. You be careful, love – and if you see him again shout for the police.'

‘Yes,' Lizzie said, smiling. ‘I shall.'

She felt better now she was on the tram and heading home. She was probably making something out of nothing, but she could never quite conquer the fear that what had happened to her when she was fourteen might happen again…

‘I'm worried about Mary,' Beth's mother said when they took the children to her first thing the next morning. ‘She was round here last night, crying and carrying on – and if she doesn't pull herself together, she'll end up losing the baby.'

‘Oh no,' Lizzie said, immediately concerned. ‘What's wrong – is there anything I can do?'

‘No, love, but it's good of you to ask,' Mrs Court said and smiled at her approvingly. ‘Mary hasn't heard from Andy for weeks and she thinks something has happened to him. I keep telling her she will get a telegram if it has, but she says she can feel something is wrong inside. It's so bad for the baby…'

Lizzie nodded, understanding because both she and Beth had been in similar situations. Beth's Mark had promised to marry her on his next leave from the Merchant Navy, but he'd been killed and she'd discovered that she was carrying the twins; the children that had been born of a brief but sweet love affair right at the beginning of the war. Lizzie had lost her husband, and even though the love she'd first felt for him had faded, his death had been hard to bear. He was young and vital and to think of a life wasted in that way was terrible. Harry was after all the father of Betty, the joy of her life, even if she had been conceived out of anger. She found it easy to understand that Mary was worried about her husband.

‘Mary is missing her job,' Beth said, sounding a little harsh. ‘She enjoyed nursing. She should go back to it once the child is born…'

‘And how do you think she is going to manage that, miss? I shan't be able to have the child and she doesn't get on well with Andy's mother, as you very well know.'

Beth flushed as she heard the note of reprimand in her mother's voice. Obviously it would be too much to expect her to care for four children every day; three was quite enough and Beth had noticed that her mother was looking a bit tired again.

‘Lizzie and me were talking. We might make other arrangements – for our children, at least sometimes… just to give you a rest.'

‘Were you now?' Annoyance flickered in Mrs Court's eyes. ‘And have I said it was too much for me, miss?'

‘No, but perhaps it isn't fair to the others…'

‘Mary and Dottie both have husbands and they don't need to work,' her mother reminded her. ‘I don't mind having their children now and then, but yours and Lizzie's come first.'

‘We're so grateful for it,' Lizzie said and kissed her daughter. She placed her in the playpen Mr Court had made for the children. ‘Be good for Nanny, Betty love.'

Mrs Court had asked Lizzie to call her Nanny for Betty's benefit and she was the closest thing to a mother that Lizzie had known since her own died. Her parents had both died of diphtheria when she was a small child and she'd been taken to live with her aunt and uncle. Lizzie's memories of her mother were still hazy, even though she'd found a picture of her parents in a box of items belonging to Aunt Jane. They'd been in the loft and discovered when there was a small leak in the water tank. Lizzie's aunt had put the things up in the attic years before and forgotten them, even though the photos and a few bits of old silver really belonged to Lizzie. Their discovery had been a joy to Lizzie and the photograph frame was now polished and stood in pride of place on her dressing table at home. It was wonderful to know that at last she had a few things that had belonged to her mother.

‘You needn't worry, Lizzie,' Mrs Court assured her, taking Betty in her arms, ‘your little love is never any trouble.'

It was a wrench leaving her daughter every day, but Lizzie knew she was lucky to have someone like Beth's mother to look after her.

‘We'll get off then, Mum,' Beth said. ‘I might be a bit later this evening. Lizzie was followed to the tram stop last night, so we shall come home together – you won't mind another half an hour?'

‘No, of course not – but, Lizzie, that's awful; if it happens again you must go to the police,' Mrs Court looked anxious.

‘I shall do,' Lizzie assured her. ‘I could ask Ed to see me to the tram stop – but if he saw anyone following me, he would probably go after whoever it is and knock him down, and Beth offered to wait…'

‘I'll keep them until you get here,' Beth's mother said. ‘Get off and open that shop of yours up, Lizzie – but don't ignore this. If someone is threatening you, the sooner it's dealt with the better.'

‘Yes…' Lizzie hesitated, not wanting to bother Mrs Court with her other worries, but Beth came straight out with it.

‘A woman stole two hats from the showroom last night too. Lizzie went to fetch her a new one and when she came back the woman had run off with two hats.'

‘What are we coming to?' Mrs Court exclaimed and shook her head. ‘I blame the war, you know – the restrictions are making people depressed and some will do anything. All these black market people, selling stuff under the counter – and where is the good in that I ask you? It has to be stolen stuff and that's just not right. I don't mind an extra bit of sugar or meat if I can get it from my regular grocer, but I wouldn't buy pinched stuff.'