‘A bath! Oh, bliss – is it still hot, Tess? Can I have it after you?’
‘Hop in,’ Tess said. ‘Why so early, chick?’
Cherie opened her eyes very wide. ‘I’m going back to school, of course! My bus leaves in forty-five minutes.’
‘Oh! Well, that’s fine, but your mother did say you could have another day or two off if you wanted.’
Cherie slung her pyjama top in the general direction of the hatstand which stood by the toilet seat, then stepped out of her trousers. She sniffed scornfully.
‘Huh! I’m not staying here doing all the housework and being a little comfort, like in
Simple Susan
. Besides, I’ll get behind. Daddy always worried if he thought we were getting behind.’
Tess, who agreed with her, said: ‘But you won’t get far behind in a day or two, so if you want . . .’
‘I don’t want, thanks,’ Cherie said firmly. She climbed into the water and lay down, shuddering with pleasure. ‘Oh, how absolutely wonderful! When I’m grown-up I’m going to marry a rich man and have a hot bath every single morning of my life!’
‘Don’t blame you,’ Tess said, rubbing herself vigorously. ‘I brought my clothes through because it’s warmer in here than in my room. Want me to fetch yours?’
‘Oh please, Tess,’ Cherie said. She hooked her big toe round the tap. ‘Shall I run a bit more hot? As it’s two to a bath, I mean.’
‘Better not, if you want to catch the early bus,’ Tess advised. She pulled her thick jumper on, then sat down on the edge of the bath to don her thick lisle stockings. Standing up and performing the contortions necessary to do up her back suspenders, she added, ‘You’ll want your uniform, then?’
‘Please. It’s all laid out on my chair. Only I’ll put another jumper on top before I add my coat. Miss Elgar said we might, she said she was sick of trying to teach little blue children who shivered all day.’
Tess chuckled. ‘I can see her point. Right, shan’t be two ticks.’
Tess and Cherie usually caught the same bus into the city. It didn’t come down Deeping Lane just for them, it stopped on the main road, more or less on the corner, so they had a mile to walk, morning and night. Not that they minded or indeed thought twice about it; it was what they had always done as children and now, with petrol strictly rationed, they took it for granted that they would walk again.
However, it was quite a spooky walk in the dark, so Tess put on her coat when Cherie donned hers and the two of them walked companionably down the short drive together.
‘I’ll come to the bus stop and wait until the bus arrives,’ Tess said. ‘Unless someone we know is waiting for it too, in which case I’ll come straight back and take Marianne a cuppa.’
‘But she doesn’t want to get up early, today,’ Cherie said. ‘Why not let her lie in?’
‘Because I don’t think it’s good for her, all this idling about,’ Tess said. ‘Cherie, the funeral’s over, Marianne should start picking up the threads now. And you don’t do that flat on your back in bed.’
There had been a sharp frost in the night and all the slush had frozen into gleaming, icy ridges. Cherie slid and then stopped so abruptly that Tess cannoned into her.
‘Dinner money! And I haven’t got any cushies for the journey home, either.’
‘Tell them that you’ll bring your dinner money tomorrow,’ Tess said. She delved in her pocket and found a threepenny bit. ‘Here, take this. You can get some biscuits or something for the journey home.’
‘Thanks, Tess,’ Cherie said. She was hurrying now, her boots crunching on the frosted grass of the verge. ‘What’ll you do today? Shopping? Or just nannying Maman?’
‘Neither,’ Tess said. Above her head in the dark sky the moon was sliding down towards the horizon, the stars so pale, now, that you had to stare to see them. Dawn was appearing in the east, a paleness, grey fingers, pink-streaked, reaching out to the great firmament above. ‘Neither, chick. Today I’m meeting an old friend.’
She saw Cherie on to the bus, then stared after the vehicle as it rumbled off down the road. Cherie, sitting on the back seat with two cronies from the next village, waved vigorously, then turned to hold her season ticket out to the conductor. The bus, despite the blacking out of its headlights, the dim blue bulbs within, still looked like Christmas compared with the darkly soggy fields, the leafless trees, and the flat grey line of the road.
It was getting lighter, though. By the time I get back to the Old House, morning will have arrived, Tess thought. And when morning arrives . . .
‘Tess! Hang on a mo!’
The voice came from behind her. Tess turned and there was Andy, running. He was wearing a dark overcoat, open all the way down despite the cold, and a scarf which flapped like a wounded bird as he ran. She couldn’t make out any more details in the semi-dark, but she beamed at him anyway.
‘Andy! When you say crack of dawn you really mean it, don’t you?’
He puffed up beside her, put a comradely arm round her shoulders, gave her a squeeze, let her go.
‘Tess, I can’t tell you how marvellous it is to see you after so long, and you haven’t changed at all! I thought early was best, because we’ve got such a lot to talk about! Now let’s start with what you’re doing now. Not the services, I imagine?’
‘No. I got a job at the Castle Museum when I passed my Higher. It’s fascinating stuff, but it isn’t war work. I’d meant to put in for the WAAF, but then Daddy died and so I’ve asked for a postponement whilst I sort things out here. Marianne wants me to join the Land Army and work for Mr Rope so I won’t have to leave home.’
‘Same old Marianne,’ Andy said, putting Tess’s own thoughts into words. He linked arms with her and set off down Deeping Lane. ‘Best foot foremost, old girl, then we can get ourselves a spot of breakfast at your place and go off again. Now what was I saying? Oh yes, leaving home; everyone wants to leave home when they get to be twenty or so. And since I’m twenty-two, Tess, you must be twenty-one, which means you’ll be pretty keen to leave home, I imagine.’
‘Yes, I’ll be twenty-one this summer,’ Tess said. ‘But as for the key of the door, I’ve not acquired that yet. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The war got in the way rather, with Daddy being the one to go off instead of me.’
‘Hmm. Did you go to university?’
‘No. I wanted to work for the Museum service and I thought I’d do better to go in there as a junior and work my way up. And I do love it, Andy. Only I can’t pretend it’s war work, which is why I was going to put in for the WAAF. And why I’m a bit disappointed that it doesn’t look as though I’ll ever wear that gorgeous uniform.’
‘Gorgeous? Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m in the same sort of boat myself. I’m not in uniform and not likely to be.’
‘Why not? It can’t be eyesight, surely? I know you’re dreadfully short-sighted, Andy, but surely that doesn’t debar you from serving in the forces?’
‘No, though they wouldn’t have me in a kite, or only as a passenger. I drive a car, you know. But I’m liaising between the French and English forces, and it’s easier if I’m out of uniform so that neither side claims me, I imagine. It’s awfully odd, I have a rank, quite a high one, on both sides of the Channel, but no uniform so far. It’s a thankless task, but awfully good practice for later – you have to be
extremely
diplomatic when you’re explaining to one army why the other one does things all skew-whiff!’
‘And now you’re on leave?’
‘That’s right. Because . . . but that isn’t important. What I want to know is why you aren’t married with a string of kiddies and a doting husband.’
‘Hang on, I’m only twenty-one, not forty-one,’ Tess said. She pinched his hand hard, then giggled when he sucked in his breath. ‘Suppose I said no one wanted to marry me, Andy?’
Andy snorted. ‘Suppose you said pigs had wings? You were a very appealing little kid, but now . . . well, I don’t need to tell you, I’m sure. Who was that awfully pleased-with-himself fellow you were talking to outside the church yesterday? Reddish hair and a pilot officer’s uniform?’
‘Oh, that was Ashley Knox. He’s the brother of my friend Freddy – Frederica – Knox, who was at school with me. He’s all right, but . . . Andy, why didn’t you keep in touch? There have been times when I’ve really longed to tell you things, discuss them and so on. I did try once or twice, but it was sort of soulless, writing letters about things which were so – so difficult. Ash and Freddy are nice, but . . .’
‘I wrote,’ Andy protested. ‘I wrote quite often at first.’
‘Yes, at first. But then you went off to India without telling me and though I did write I never got a reply . . .’
‘I never got a letter,’ Andy said. ‘It was all the moving around, I expect. The truth is I’m a rotten correspondent, old girl, and once Father had decided I was all right and could be useful I simply never came back to England, except for very short business trips. Why, my degree’s a French one – I went to the Sorbonne, you know, instead of Cambridge. So until the war started, I didn’t see my future here at all.’
‘I did wonder if you got my letters,’ Tess admitted. ‘But all that’s happened, and it’s over. And since you’re older than me, you could easily be the married one.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Andy said. ‘I’ve had one or two girlfriends, of course, mostly French, though . . . You?’
‘No girlfriends at all, apart from Freddy and Jan,’ Tess said, smirking. ‘Oh, you meant boyfriends – why didn’t you say? There’s been no one serious. A fellow who works with me, Paul, took me out a couple of times, but mostly it’s been Ashley.’
‘I knew it,’ Andy exploded. ‘Do you
like
that type? All swagger and slang and bulging trousers?’
‘Ashley isn’t like that,’ Tess said. ‘He’s all right really. But no, in fact I don’t like that type. Ash is a good friend but I don’t have the slightest intention of marrying him. Or anything.’
They reached the gates. Tess slipped through them, pulling Andy behind her.
‘Here we are – I’ll get us some breakfast. We’ve got hens now but they aren’t laying particularly well at present. Still, there’s oodles of bacon from Mrs Thrower’s last autumn pig – d’you like bacon sandwiches?’
‘They’re prime,’ Andy said. ‘What about your stepmother? Will she mind? I can’t wave Lady Salter in her face the way I used to, since she’ll realise I’m only here on leave.’
‘She’s changed,’ Tess said. She pushed open the back door and the pleasant, kitcheny warmth rushed out to meet them. ‘Take your outdoor things off whilst I make the tea. Then I’ll take a cup up to Marianne and get going on brekker. And as soon as we’ve eaten we’ll get off out.’
‘Out? Where? Why?’ Andy said, obediently hanging his dark coat and his scarf up on the hooks behind the door. ‘I thought you wanted to talk.’
‘So I do. Outside, though,’ Tess said firmly. ‘Unless you want Marianne hanging on your every word, of course.’
They ate bacon sandwiches and drank tea, and then Andy put on his long, navy-blue overcoat and Tess put on her dark-brown one with the fur collar, and they set off, into the chilly and uninspiring morning.
‘I told Marianne we’d be out for lunch,’ Tess said rather guiltily. ‘But in for an evening meal. It’s too cold for a picnic, but I thought – I thought we might buy a pie each or something.’
‘You do want us out of your house, don’t you?’ Andy said quizzically. ‘Now I wonder why?’
‘I’ve told you. Because of Marianne,’ Tess said. She could not bring herself to admit that she thought Ashley would turn up on the doorstep and make them both uncomfortable. For one thing, it would give Andy the impression that Ashley was a person of some significance in her life and for another, it would make her seem such a ninny. ‘Now, where shall we go?’
‘The Broad isn’t iced up any more but I don’t fancy boating,’ Andy said as they stood in Deeping Lane, looking up and down it. ‘Shall we walk up to the bus stop and go into the city? Or we could walk to Stalham, I suppose.’
‘We’ll catch a bus into the city,’ Tess decided. She was certain that Ashley would find them in Stalham without any trouble; Norwich would be a whole lot more difficult. She had no idea just what she expected Ash to do, except that it would be something embarrassing and unpleasant both for herself and for Andy. Ashley was so
proprietorial,
that was the trouble. He seemed to think he owned her.
The bus came and the two of them jumped aboard and went right down to the front, for it wasn’t full by any means. Tess sat in the front seat against the window and Andy sat down beside her.
‘What luxury, a bus not crammed with office workers,’ she said, turning to Andy. ‘The bus Cherie and I catch in the mornings . . . oh!’
‘Why
Oh
?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘Got a pain?’
‘No, I just remembered . . . something I’d forgotten,’ Tess said confusedly. ‘It doesn’t matter . . . tell me what you did after that summer, the one you spent in Barton.’ She did not think it necessary to explain that she had just seen Ashley, in his snarling sports car, driving in the opposite direction. He had not, she was sure, seen her, which was one blessing, anyway.
‘School, then Russia, then school again,’ Andy said. ‘Now what I want to know is, did you ever discover about your mother and your dream and everything? You kept hinting mysteriously but you never actually came out with much.’
‘No. Well, I wasn’t any better than you at putting things down in writing. But I really have found out more than I bargained for, Andy. D’you mind if I don’t tell you right away, though? I’ll save it for when we’re alone, later.’
‘Being alone in the city isn’t easy,’ Andy said. He sounded rather disgruntled. ‘We could go to the flicks, I suppose, but then you can’t talk. People keep hushing you because they want to hear the film.’
‘We could go to the museum,’ Tess said brightly. ‘There are rooms in the castle that hardly anyone goes in. What’s today?’
‘Tuesday. Why?’
‘Wonderful. It’s the only day we charge an admittance fee, which means that the place is like a tomb on Tuesdays. We’ll go up, pay our bob or whatever, and settle ourselves comfortably in – in one of the picture galleries, or the bird room, or by the cases where the poor butterflies are pinned out, or amongst the mummies. Then we can talk all we like in complete privacy.’