Authors: Lily Baxter
Chapter Two
HALFWAY ALONG THE
beach road, one of the oddly assorted pram wheels spun off its axle and rolled into the water-filled dyke that drained the salt marsh. Miranda could feel blisters forming painfully on both heels, and her head was beginning to ache. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky and she took off her straw hat, wiping the sweat from her forehead. ‘I didn’t think that contraption would take the weight of three suitcases,’ she said, ramming her hat on with an exasperated sigh.
‘What d’you expect for blooming tuppence?’ Glaring at her, Tommy slumped down on the grass verge.
‘Get up, you lazy devil,’ Rita said, nudging him with the toe of her sandal. ‘Fix the wheel on and let’s get going. I’m getting freckles on me nose and that’s no good for me career.’
Tommy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Can’t fix it. Got no tools.’ He was pale beneath his tan and he looked as though a puff of wind would blow him over.
Miranda was beginning to feel sorry for him. She frowned at Rita, shaking her head. ‘Nagging won’t help.’ She turned to Tommy, leaning down to pat
him
on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Tommy. We’re more than halfway there. You can’t give up now.’
‘I’m getting burnt to a crisp,’ Rita said crossly. ‘I can see me nose getting redder by the second.’
Miranda took off her straw hat and thrust it into Rita’s hands. ‘Here, wear this and stop grumbling. You’re not helping.’ She shaded her eyes, squinting into the distance as the road stretched before them in a line as straight as a pencil sketch in a child’s drawing book. With the salt marsh and reed beds on their left and the sea on the other side of the beach wall, they were caught in a no man’s land of heat and dust. The fresh briny smell of the sea was tainted by the stench of rotting vegetation and warm mud emanating from the marsh. It was all achingly familiar to Miranda, but it was a shock to see the defences constructed from barbed wire and scaffolding that made it impossible to climb over the wall or to walk along it and enjoy the view of the bay. The only sounds she could hear were the mournful cries of the seagulls circling overhead, and the waves sucking gently at the pebbles on the shore.
‘You’ve broken me cart,’ Tommy said, struggling to his feet. ‘I should have charged you sixpence for giving me so much trouble.’
‘Oh, shut up, you miserable sod.’ Rita glanced up and down the deserted road, screwing her face up as if she had been sucking a lemon. ‘Ain’t there no buses in this godforsaken hole? Nothing’s gone past since we started out on this trek to nowhere.’
‘Petrol’s rationed,’ Miranda said sternly. ‘You should know that, Rita.’
‘Oh, sorry, miss. I weren’t listening in class. We can’t afford cars where I come from.’
Miranda decided that she was fighting a losing battle with both of her companions. ‘I’m going to Elzevir Shipway’s cottage. Maybe he’ll give us a lift on his cart.’
‘Who’s he?’ Rita cocked her head on one side like an inquisitive robin. ‘That’s a daft name if ever I heard one.’
‘No need to bother him,’ Tommy said, springing to his feet. ‘I’ll fix the wheel.’ He scrambled down the bank into the ditch where he waded knee-deep in foul-smelling water, splashing around until he found what he was looking for. He clambered out, grumbling all the time as he attempted to fix the wheel on by hammering it with a small rock.
‘You’ll not do it that way.’ Rita pushed him aside, aiming a kick at the wheel.
‘Here, don’t do that,’ Tommy protested.
‘It worked, didn’t it?’ Rita stood back, smirking. The wheel, as if to prove her point, stayed on.
‘It won’t hold,’ Tommy said, flinging the rock back into the muddy water.
Miranda decided it was time to take charge. She was beginning to feel like a schoolmistress dealing with a couple of squabbling infants. ‘You don’t know until you try,’ she said firmly. ‘Anyway, you can’t abandon us here, Tommy. I’ve paid you to take the
luggage
to Highcliffe House and that’s that.’
He grabbed the handle and gave it a heave, but after pushing the cart for a few yards the wheel wobbled and fell off again. The suitcases slid onto the ground and Rita uttered a roar of displeasure as the rusty locks gave away and her case burst open, spilling its contents onto the road. ‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed, scrabbling about and gathering up her belongings. ‘Give us a hand, you twerp.’
Tommy’s face flushed a deeper shade of red and he glowered at her. ‘Shut up.’
He looked so much like an angry pixie that Miranda had to stifle the urge to laugh. She felt a bubble of hysteria rising in her throat but she controlled it with difficulty. She was hot, thirsty and could quite happily have walked off and left the two of them to fight it out, but she could not leave her cases blocking the road and they were too heavy to carry very far. ‘It’s no good. I shall just have to ask Elzevir for help.’ She pointed to a cottage which stood alone on the edge of the marsh: a ramshackle one-storey building with tall chimney pots, one at each end, sticking up like rabbit’s ears from the corrugated-iron roof. Elzevir Shipway, whose official job was to operate the sluice gates twice daily in order to drain the water from the marsh, supplemented his meagre wage by selling logs and doing odd jobs. He lived with his spinster sister, Annie, who had been the daily help at Highcliffe House for as long as Miranda could remember.
‘You can count me out,’ Tommy said crossly. ‘I don’t want nothing to do with old Elzevir. Evil-Eye, that’s what everyone calls him.’ Grabbing the handle of his cart he turned it around and started off towards the town, balancing it precariously on three wheels.
Rita stuffed the last sock back into her case, closed the lid and sat on it. ‘What’s up with him?’
‘He’s scared of Elzevir, because years ago he and some of the other local boys used to throw stones at his windows and call him names. I could hear Elzevir yelling at them from my grandparents’ garden and he’d box their ears if he caught any of them. He’s a big chap and I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. Anyway, his muscle is what we need now so I’ll go and see if he’s in. You wait here.’
‘Can’t do much else,’ Rita said gloomily. ‘The bloody locks are busted.’
Miranda frowned. ‘Er, you might want to watch your language when you meet my grandparents. They’re a bit old-fashioned, if you know what I mean.’
‘Stuck up, you mean.’ Rita pulled a face. ‘Don’t worry, Miranda, mate. I can act like a lady when I want to.’
Miranda had no answer to that and she set off for the cottage. What should have been a ten-minute drive with her grandfather had turned into a tiresome trek, and when she knocked on the door
and
received no answer she was beginning to feel quite desperate. She went back to where Rita was still sitting on her suitcase. ‘He’s out,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘We’ll just have to walk. It’s only about half a mile from here.’
Rita gave her a pitying glance. ‘So how do you suggest I carry this thing? It won’t shut and I got nothing to tie round it. We’ll have to wait for a bus.’
‘I don’t even know if they run buses on this route these days. We’ll just have to leave our luggage here and get someone to pick it up later.’
‘What?’ Rita’s voice rose to an agitated squeak. ‘Some bugger will come along and pinch everything. This is all I got left in the world.’
‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Miranda said, making an effort to sound calm. ‘If we pile them up on the grass verge we can get my grandfather to collect them.’
‘I ain’t budging. You might be trusting but I ain’t. I’m sitting here until someone comes to my rescue.’
Miranda opened her mouth to tell her that she might be waiting for a very long time when, as if by some miracle, she heard the sound of a car engine coming from the direction of the town. She leapt into the middle of the road, waving her arms frantically at the speeding vehicle. The car came to a halt with a screech of brakes and the smell of burning rubber. A young man in RAF uniform leapt out of the driver’s seat, his face ashen. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? You might have been
killed
, dancing about in the middle of the road like an idiot.’
Rita jumped to her feet. ‘Steady on, guv. You was driving like a bat out of hell anyway.’
He looked from one to the other and suddenly his grim expression melted into a smile. ‘Fair comment, I suppose.’ He fixed his gaze on Miranda and was serious again. ‘Are you all right? You aren’t going to pass out on me, are you?’
Miranda shook her head. She was feeling slightly sick and a bit dizzy, but she was not going to admit it or that she had acted in a reckless manner. ‘I’m fine, thank you. But we need help.’
He glanced down at the damaged case and at Miranda’s slightly battered but expensive leather luggage. He nodded his head. ‘I can see that. Where are you two ladies going?’
Miranda pointed to the hill at the far end of the road. ‘Highcliffe House. It’s not very far, but we can’t manage the cases.’
‘That’s Major Beddoes’ house, isn’t it?’ he said, frowning.
‘Yes. He’s my grandfather.’ Miranda sensed a change in his attitude, but she knew that her grandfather was extremely outspoken and quite often offended people. She met his gaze with a determined lift of her chin and held out her hand. ‘Miranda Beddoes. How do you do?’
‘Raif Carstairs. How do you do?’ He seemed to relent and shook hands with an attempt at a smile.
‘I
can give you a lift if you don’t mind a bit of a squash.’
‘My mum told me never to get into a car with a strange man,’ Rita said with a flirtatious grin.
He clicked his heels together and saluted. ‘Flight Lieutenant Raif Carstairs. How do you do?’
Rita’s face split into a wide smile as she grabbed his hand, pumping it up and down. ‘Rita Platt. Pleased to meet you. Ta for the offer, mister.’ Without waiting for a second invitation she climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Hop in, Miranda, mate. There’s room for two little ’uns like us.’
Miranda hesitated. ‘But there isn’t any space for the luggage.’
‘We’ll leave them in Shipway’s garden,’ Raif said decisively. ‘They’ll be safe there. No one would dare steal anything from him.’ He moved the cases one at a time to the safety of the tiny front garden surrounded by a rather dilapidated picket fence.
‘That Evil-Eye bloke sounds like a right ’un.’ Rita patted the seat beside her. ‘Come on, Miranda. What are you waiting for? Let Prince Charming see to the cases. We’re travelling in style.’
Miranda hesitated, torn between the desire to get to her grandparents’ home as quickly as possible and the indignity of squashing in beside Rita. Flight Lieutenant Carstairs must think they were a couple of silly young girls. It was humiliating to say the least, and she dared not think what Grandpa George would say when he found out how she had
risked
life and limb to flag down the speeding motorcar.
‘He’s a bit of all right,’ Rita said, craning her neck to get a better view of Raif. ‘D’you think he’ll ask me for a date?’
Miranda felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She could not help admiring the lean athletic and rather dashing figure that Raif Carstairs presented in his smart blue uniform. He was quite good-looking, although she would not have described him as handsome, but he was charming and he obviously knew it. She squeezed in beside Rita. ‘He wouldn’t look twice at you, Rita Platt.’
‘Wanna bet?’ Rita said in a phoney American accent.
‘Move over, please.’ Miranda nudged her gently in the ribs. ‘The door handle is cutting into me.’
‘With pleasure. It gives me an excuse to cuddle up to the glamour-boy.’
Miranda said nothing. She sat very still during the drive, suffering torments of embarrassment as she tried to ignore Rita’s flirtatious behaviour. Luckily it was a very short journey. Raif dropped them at the gate and drove off with a cheery wave.
Rita met Miranda’s frown with a carefree chuckle. ‘Your face will stick like that if the wind changes.’ She paused, clutching the gatepost with an agonised expression. ‘Oh, hell. I need the lav. I’ll wet me pants if I don’t go soon.’
Wishing she had never taken pity on Rita Platt, Miranda opened the garden gate. She pointed to the outbuildings at the back of the house. ‘The gardener’s lavatory is the one with the blue door. Wait there when you’re done and I’ll come and find you.’
Rita took off down the crumbling red-brick path as if the devil were on her heels and Miranda followed at a slower pace, but as she emerged from the shade of the overhanging laburnum and the tamarisk she spotted her grandmother on her hands and knees weeding a flowerbed. She broke into a run. ‘Granny. Here I am.’
Maggie Beddoes clambered to her feet, struggling to disentangle her skirt from the clutching thorns of a rose bush. ‘Miranda, my dear girl. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘Maman told Grandpa that I’d be arriving on the eleven forty-five train today. Friday the twenty-first.’
‘No, dear. Surely not. Tomorrow is the twenty-first, isn’t it?’ Maggie stared at her in dismay. ‘Oh, bother. I must have looked at the calendar with the wrong spectacles, or maybe I forgot to change the month. I do that quite often.’ She dropped the trowel she had been clutching in her hand and wrapped Miranda in a hug.
Laughing, Miranda drew away as the secateurs in her grandmother’s apron pocket threatened to impale her on their open blades. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, but there’s a small matter of my
luggage
. Tommy Toop’s cart lost a wheel and I had to leave my cases in the Shipways’ front garden.’
‘You poor girl. I am so sorry. What must you have thought when there was no one to meet you at the station? And you must be exhausted having walked all that way in this heat.’
‘A really nice RAF officer gave us a lift.’
‘Gave you a lift? You accepted a ride in a car with a strange man? Oh, my God. This is all my fault.’
‘No, honestly, he introduced himself very politely. He said his name is Raif Carstairs.’
Maggie’s eyebrows snapped together in a frown. ‘You should have telephoned and we would have come for you. Never accept a lift from strangers.’
Miranda stared at her grandmother in surprise. She was normally easy-going but now she seemed really upset. ‘He was quite respectable, Granny.’