Authors: Ellie Dean
‘I bet you would if you got the chance,’ Peggy teased fondly. ‘We all know you enjoy a challenge.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ she replied with a naughty twinkle in her eye, ‘but there are limits.’ She sipped her tea and changed the subject. ‘We performed miracles with Amelia’s bungalow, didn’t we?’
‘We certainly did,’ agreed Peggy as she thought of the hours of work they had all put in to help Ruby get the bungalow ready before she went to London to persuade her mother to leave the tenement in Bow for a new life in Cliffehaven.
Ethel had clearly been reluctant to leave all she knew, for it had taken over two weeks of steady, determined persuasion by Ruby to get her down here. In that time, Ron and Stan had mended guttering and loose tiles, cleared the garden of the mounds of rubbish, clipped the hedge at the bottom, repaired the outside lav, and dug and planted a generous vegetable plot.
The neglected bungalow had been cleared of mice droppings, rubbish and rotting food, the walls freshly distempered and the floors scrubbed and revarnished. Now the windows sparkled, the net curtains were snowy and the bedrooms smelled of fresh linen and furniture polish. The kitchen was spotless, and although the furniture in the sitting room was shabby, the wireless was in good working order, the chimney had been swept, and the sun was now able to shine through the cleaned windows.
‘Amelia must have been ill for a long time to let things go so badly,’ murmured Cordelia. ‘She was usually so fastidious about everything.’
‘Your sister was a very sick woman,’ Peggy said softly. ‘It was just such a shame she shut herself away from her neighbours so no one realised what was happening to her until she started wandering the streets in her nightclothes.’
‘I still feel guilty about not keeping in touch with her,’ fretted Cordelia. ‘She was alone and struggling with dementia all the while I was happy and snug with you here at Beach View.’
‘You’re not to think like that, Cordelia,’ Peggy said as she reached to gently take her hand. ‘Amelia was the one who snubbed you and would have nothing to do with the family. Look at the way she refused to help Sarah and Jane when they arrived from Singapore.’
‘I know, but she was my older sister, and although we didn’t get on and I didn’t much like her, I should have made the effort to stay in touch.’
Peggy looked at her old friend evenly. ‘Cordelia,’ she said firmly, ‘life is always full of regrets, but there’s no profit in wishing things were different. Amelia was her own worst enemy by the sound of it, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I suppose so,’ Cordelia conceded sadly. ‘Poor Amelia. I’m glad I’m not all alone.’ There were tears glistening in her eyes as she squeezed Peggy’s fingers. ‘You have no idea how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Peggy,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘You’re so very generous with your care and your time. We’re all so lucky to have you.’
Peggy was horribly embarrassed by this effusive praise. ‘Actually,’ she admitted, ‘I feel rather mean at the moment.’
Cordelia’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why on earth is that?’
‘Well, it would have been lovely to ask Ruby and Ethel to share our meal on their first night here, but things are so tight, there simply isn’t enough to go round. I do hope they won’t think me rude for not asking them.’
‘Good heavens, dear, of course they won’t.’ Cordelia’s little face tightened into a fierce expression. ‘You’re a good woman, Peggy, and Ruby knows how lucky she was that you took her in after that horrid, beastly man tried to . . .’ She dithered and blushed. ‘Well, you know what he tried to do,’ she said hastily. ‘Anyway, my point is, you’ve done enough, and if you try to do any more they might see it as over-generous, and be embarrassed that they can’t reciprocate.’
‘You mean they might think I’m playing Lady Bountiful like my sister Doris,’ Peggy said on a sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right. I am inclined to get carried away sometimes, but I just want them to settle in and be happy here in Cliffehaven. It must be grim up in London, and from what Ruby told me, poor Ethel hasn’t had much of a life.’
‘They’ll settle in and get used to things without you fussing around them like a mother hen,’ replied Cordelia with a gentle smile.
Peggy realised she was fretting needlessly, so she gathered up their dirty cups and took them to the sink. ‘There’s still no sign of Ron or Harvey,’ she murmured as she glanced out of the window to the back garden. ‘Why don’t we follow suit and take some time off too? It won’t matter if tea’s a bit late this evening, and it’s far too hot in this kitchen to sit in here any longer.’
‘I think that’s a splendid idea,’ said Cordelia as she carefully placed the precious orange in the larder, eyeing the bottles of milk stout that sat on the marble shelf. She fetched her walking stick and bag of knitting. ‘And perhaps we could even have a glass of that milk stout you refused to drink when you were supposed to. It’s lovely and cold and just the thing for a hot day.’
Peggy raised an eyebrow. She hated milk stout, and Cordelia knew it.
‘Humour me,’ said the old lady dryly. ‘You need building up, and milk stout won’t kill you.’
Peggy looked at her with deep affection and went to fetch the milk stout and the baby. It was too hot, and she simply didn’t have the energy to argue.
Ron had quickly realised why his lurcher had been disappearing on a regular basis. After asking around, he soon discovered that the object of Harvey’s desire was a pedigree whippet that belonged to the snooty old battleaxe who lived in the large house set back from the main road into Cliffehaven.
Sprawling behind high rhododendron hedges that encircled at least two acres of garden, a sizeable lake and woodland, this grand edifice had been built over a century ago for a wealthy merchant who valued his privacy. To this end, only the tall chimneys and ornate ridge of the roof could be seen from the road, and the nearest neighbour – a large mansion which had been turned into a Forces hospital – was over a mile away.
And yet Ron knew the place rather well, for he’d long since discovered that the woodlands provided a fair number of rabbits, the odd roving deer and even game birds that had escaped from Lord Cliffe’s estate. The lake was a good source of ducks and their eggs as well as the sizeable eels that had become trapped after swimming down through the many streams that cross-crossed the woodlands. As there was no trigger-happy gamekeeper here like the one up at the Cliffe estate, Ron had been a fairly frequent visitor these past few years.
In his younger days he’d been employed by the owner to do a bit of gardening and some odd jobs when the weather had made it impossible to take out his fishing boats, so he knew his way around both the house and the grounds. Mr Fullerton had been alive then, traipsing back and forth to London on the train with his bowler hat, umbrella and briefcase to his office, where he was something big in banking.
Ron had come to quite like him, for he’d always had time for a pipe and a chat, and knew a fair bit about gardens. But he’d been henpecked, that was for sure, and as often as not their pleasant few minutes would be interrupted by the foghorn voice of his awful wife demanding his immediate presence.
Ron was not in the best of moods as he clumped up the hill in his wellington boots, for he’d missed lunch, and there were a thousand and one things he should be doing instead of coming up here looking for his lovesick, heathen dog. Rosie had asked him to change the barrels before she opened the Anchor tonight, Peggy was expecting to have her outside lav in full working order by the end of the day, and his ferrets Flora and Dora were getting fat through lack of exercise.
He finally reached the high hedge that fronted the property, and stood there for a moment to admire the view of Cliffehaven spread out below him. The town followed the line of the horseshoe bay and sprawled northward into the surrounding hills. There were chalk cliffs to the east and rolling hills tumbling almost to the promenade to the west, and from here, Ron could see the gun emplacements that dotted those hills, and the enemy plane which had been shot down and was now rusting into the remains of the pier.
It was still an attractive place if you didn’t look too closely, but it had grown during the war, with ugly factories and emergency prefab houses springing up where there had once been green fields. Now the sun shone on glinting barrage balloons and emphasised the stark reality of the bomb sites that scarred the once orderly lines of Victorian terraces.
He gave a deep sigh and returned to the problem of finding Harvey. There was no guarantee that he was even here, and if he wasn’t, then this whole enterprise was a waste of time. Ron eyed the hedge and considered the more prudent approach might be to go the long way round and enter the estate from the woodland at the back where he was less likely to be seen by Agatha Fullerton – but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. It was yet another long trek and he was in no mood for going much further on an empty stomach.
Hitching up his baggy corduroy trousers, he looked up and down the deserted road and then, satisfied no one could see him, eased his way through a narrow gap in the rhododendrons. It was cool and deeply shadowed amongst the tangled branches, and he knew he was well camouflaged in his dusty brown clothes, so he squatted down, regarded the terrain in front of him and thought about a plan of action.
If his information had been correct and Harvey was here, then no doubt he’d be circling the house trying to find a way in. And if Agatha Fullerton caught him, there would be ructions and no mistake. Harvey was well known in this town and instantly recognisable. One glimpse of him would have Agatha on the doorstep of Beach View Boarding House causing untold trouble for him and his dog – and upsetting Peggy into the bargain.
Ron chewed on the stem of his unlit pipe as he eyed the large lake between him and the house. If Harvey did appear, then Ron didn’t have a hope in hell of getting round that lake and grabbing him before he ran off – and he certainly wouldn’t come to a whistle, not with all the distractions of that whippet bitch. He would have to find another hiding place nearer to the house, and just hope Agatha wasn’t looking out of one of her many windows.
He crouched lower and studied the ornamental lake. There was a clump of pampas grass and another of bulrushes and irises which might provide cover, and if he made it across the gravel path to the house, there was the jut of the porch he could hide behind. Though he’d have to be quick to catch the old bugger as he shot past, for Harvey could run like the wind, and was an expert in evasion tactics.
His gaze trawled the tranquil water, noting that the small flock of quacking ducks was huddled together at one end and looking very put out about something. This was odd behaviour and Ron frowned as he looked more carefully to see if he could spot what had disturbed the birds. If it was a big eel, then maybe he’d come back tonight and see if he could net it for the dinner table – it had been a long while since he’d had jellied eel and the thought made his mouth water.
Then something stirred beneath the lily pads in the middle of the lake, and a brindled head and two ears emerged, swiftly followed by a pair of eyes and the top of a long, pointed nose.
Ron had to bite his lip to smother his laughter. Harvey was using commando tactics to win his prize. God love him, the old lothario must be desperate.
The ears and head didn’t move beneath the lily pads as the eyes darted back and forth, the brows wriggled, and the water stirred gently around the nose at every breath. Harvey was perfectly camouflaged and poised for action.
Ron stayed absolutely still, fascinated to see how long Harvey would remain there and what would happen next.
He didn’t have very long to wait, for minutes later the front door opened and the redoubtable figure of Agatha Fullerton strode out onto the gravel path, her sleek grey whippet in her arms. She looked around her warily, and deciding that the coast was clear, set the whippet down. ‘Run along, Princess, there’s a good girl,’ she ordered.
Princess was a very obedient animal and she ran off quite happily to the far side of the lake, where she sniffed the grass intently as her owner smiled benignly from the doorway.
Ron glanced quickly at the lake. Harvey hadn’t moved a muscle, but his gaze flew between the woman in the doorway and the grey whippet which was now moving fairly swiftly towards the closely fenced woodland.
Agatha Fullerton must have come to the conclusion that her precious pedigree pet was safe from marauding vagabond dogs, for she went back inside.
Harvey was out of the lake in a flash and haring across the lawn at lightning speed, dirty water and mud flying off his coat. Hell-bent on claiming his prize, he hurtled into the trees and was lost from sight.
Ron heard the welcoming yips of the whippet and eased back through the hedge. Emerging into the bright sunlight, he took a moment to light his pipe. There was absolutely nothing he could do now but wait for Harvey to return to Beach View.
He grinned round the stem of his pipe as he clumped back down the hill towards home. The old so-and-so clearly still had some life left in him, but he was punching well above his weight with that expensive whippet, and Ron just hoped to God Agatha never discovered the identity of the old rogue who had so enthusiastically deflowered her precious Princess.
He was still smiling and shaking his head in amusement at the memory of Harvey in that lake. There was no doubt about it, he thought, Harvey was a highly intelligent and resourceful dog, even if he was a ruddy nuisance. But there would be ructions, and from now on Harvey would have to be kept on a lead every time he went outside.
Quite how he was going to achieve this, Ron had no idea – but he was sure he could come up with some solution by the time Harvey returned home.
HAMBLE FERRY POOL
was placed between the Solent and the Hamble River, and its airfield made it the obvious jumping off point for the hundreds of Spitfires that were being built at the Vickers works in Southampton. The day-to-day routine of flying these new planes to country airfields like the nearby Chattis Hill and High Post on the edge of Salisbury Plain, where they were tested and armed, was never straightforward, for Southampton was constantly under attack.