Authors: Lily Baxter
‘But why? He’s my friend, and I care about him.’
Daphne rose to her feet. ‘It’s possible that Gil might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Whatever happens he’s going to have a long convalescence and you’ll be stationed miles away. I know it’s not your fault, but you won’t be around to give him the support and encouragement he needs.’
‘I’ll stand by Gil. I won’t let him down.’
‘You’re very young, Miranda. You might meet someone else and fall madly in love. What would that do to Gil?’
‘No one knows what the future holds, but I can’t abandon him now.’
Daphne shook her head. ‘I’m being realistic, my dear. You barely know my son, and he’s going to need someone who’ll be there for him no matter what. Could you promise me that that person would be you?’
‘No, of course not, but I’d always be his friend.’
‘That wouldn’t be kind, and it wouldn’t work.
This
may sound cruel, but I want you to keep away from Gil.’
‘I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘I’m not asking you. I’m telling you that this is how it must be. I want you to promise that you won’t try to contact him in any way. No phone calls, no letters and certainly no visits. I won’t let you break his heart.’
‘I’m not making any such promises. You can’t tell me what to do.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m doing this to protect my son.’
‘He’s a man, Mrs Maddern. You’re treating him like a child.’
Daphne gave her a calculating look. ‘You don’t understand. I’ve devoted my whole life to my children. After their father died I had to bring them up alone and run a successful business in what is virtually a man’s world. I’ve had to be tough at times and make difficult decisions, but it was always with my family’s wellbeing in mind. I’d do anything to protect my only son from heartbreak – absolutely anything.’
‘I do understand, but I think you ought to let Gil be the judge of what is right for him.’
‘I’m not going to waste time arguing with you, Miss Beddoes. I’ve made my position clear.’ Daphne moved to the door and opened it. ‘I think you’d better leave now and don’t even think of getting in touch with Fliss. I’ll tell her that you
came
to the decision by yourself, and if you have any genuine feelings for Gil you’ll respect my wishes. Get your things and go before she comes downstairs.’
Chapter Seventeen
MIRANDA ARRIVED HOME
to find her grandmother and Annie in a state of near panic. Forgetting her own problems, she stood in the doorway, staring at the chaotic scene in the kitchen. Annie was mumbling to herself as she rolled out pastry, sending clouds of flour into the air and punctuating her grumbles with sneezes, while Maggie scrabbled about in the pantry. ‘What’s all this?’ Miranda asked, dodging a crumpled paper bag that her grandmother tossed over her shoulder.
Shaking flour off her hands, Annie snatched up a tea towel and rushed over to the oven. A waft of heat made her recoil as she reached in to take out a tray of jam tarts that were about to incinerate. ‘Damnation,’ she muttered, slamming it down on the table.
‘Are we having a party, or something?’ Miranda peeled off her jacket and hooked it over the back of a chair. ‘Can I help?’
Maggie emerged from the pantry, wiping a cobweb from her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s you, Miranda. You were needed here. You shouldn’t have gone gallivanting off after your boyfriend.’
‘Why? What’s going on, Granny?’
‘A wedding, that’s all.’ Maggie slumped down on a chair. ‘Jack and Isabel are getting married tomorrow at the register office. He’s getting a special licence. It will all end in disaster, especially if Max gets to hear of it.’
Miranda had to stifle the sudden urge to laugh. Her nerves were already stretched after the fraught encounter with Gil’s mother. There had been an emotional scene with Felicity who had come downstairs just as Miranda had been about to leave the house. She had been puzzled and then furious. She and her mother had had a stand-up row and Miranda had slipped out of the door unnoticed. Coming home was like walking into a Marx brothers’ comedy, and something of a relief. After the pristine elegance of the Madderns’ house, Highcliffe’s homely shabbiness seemed suddenly warm and welcoming. Miranda rolled up her sleeves. ‘What can I do to help?’
For the rest of the day she worked to make the house ready for the wedding reception, dusting, sweeping and polishing until everything gleamed. She tried to avoid the kitchen where her grandmother and Annie were constantly reminiscing about the good old days when food was plentiful and wedding breakfasts were sumptuous affairs. They grumbled about the evils of rationing and the indecent haste with which Jack and Isabel were getting married, but they put the blame for everything
squarely
on Hitler. It was entirely his fault and they would tell him so if he dared to invade England. Miranda left them squabbling over what filling to put in the sandwiches next day and escaped into the garden where, armed with a trug and a pair of scissors, she picked the few remaining chrysanthemums that had not succumbed to the frost and swags of evergreen from the shrubbery. She filled every vase she could find and arranged them strategically around the drawing room and in the entrance hall. She had just finished when her grandfather arrived home from court. He gave her a whiskery kiss on the cheek. ‘So you’re home, Miranda. We missed you last night. How is the young pilot?’
Miranda bit her lip. She had been trying not to think about Gil or to brood about the way his mother had sent her packing, but now it all came back to her in a rush. ‘I’m not allowed to see him, Grandpa.’
He stared at her, frowning. ‘We’ll have a glass of sherry and you can tell me all about it.’
Miranda followed him to his study and settled herself in a chair by the fireplace while he poured the drinks. He passed one to her. ‘Sip this slowly. You look as though you’ve had a hard day. Do you want to tell me about it?’ He took a seat, waiting patiently while she gathered her thoughts.
She twirled the glass between her fingertips, staring into the amber liquid. ‘I don’t know where to start, Grandpa.’
‘The beginning is always a good place,’ he said, smiling. ‘Take your time, my dear. At least it’s nice and peaceful in here and we’re out of the firing line, so to speak.’
She began to relax. It had always been easier to talk to her grandfather than anyone else. He never interrupted and would sit and listen intently until she had poured out all her troubles; then he would think about it for a while before giving his opinion. He was never judgemental and his advice, if asked for, was always sound. She started slowly, gathering confidence as she told him how she had met Gil and ended by telling him what had happened at the Madderns’ home that morning.
‘Mrs Maddern sounds quite an indomitable lady,’ he said slowly. ‘But you can see her point of view, I’m sure.’
‘I can, I suppose, but she’s wrong. How would Gil feel if I simply abandoned him?’
‘It might be better for him in the long run. If you aren’t sure of your feelings towards this young man, you’d better think long and hard before you go rushing in only to dash his hopes later on.’
‘I thought you would be on my side, Grandpa.’
‘I am, and I know you’ll do the right thing. Give yourself time to think about it, Miranda. Nothing is as it should be in wartime. I’ve been through it myself.’ He laid his hand on hers. ‘I think you know what I mean.’
‘You’re talking about Granny and Max Carstairs.’
‘When war turns everything upside down people behave differently. They do things they would never dream of doing in peacetime. Take your mother, for instance. She’s given up everything she holds dear to go abroad, risking her life for her country.’
‘I know, Grandpa. I miss her terribly, but I try not to think about what she’s doing. It’s too scary.’
‘You have to put your trust in her, Miranda. She’s a brave woman.’ He patted her hand. ‘Don’t dwell on what might be, my dear. We have to get on with life to the best of our ability, just like Jack and Isabel. They’re getting married tomorrow despite the rift between our families, and I for one wish them every happiness.’
She put her glass on the desk and stood up to give him a hug. ‘You’re a wonder, Grandpa. You always make me feel better.’
‘You’ll work it out, Miranda.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Do you suppose there’s any chance of us getting a meal tonight? I thought I smelled burnt pastry when I came in.’
Jack arrived early next morning looking uncharacteristically nervous and had to be revived with a tot of brandy before the family set off in the Bentley, there being just enough petrol left in the tank to get them to the register office and back again. They were unusually silent during the short journey, and the atmosphere was tense as they waited for Isabel to arrive.
Maggie and Annie sat on hard wooden chairs in the vestibule, clutching their handbags, while George paced up and down on the pavement outside. Standing beside Jack, Miranda noticed that he was perspiring freely although it was cold and draughty in the waiting area. She slipped her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’ll be fine. I expect Isabel is much more nervous than you are.’
He twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. ‘I’d rather take a Spit up any day. This is terrifying.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m just hoping that old man Carstairs doesn’t turn up and do the Barretts of Wimpole Street thing on us. I’ve seen the film with Norma Shearer and Fredric March. The old man gave them hell.’
The sound of her grandfather’s booming voice heralded Isabel’s arrival and Miranda breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her enter the building accompanied by Mrs Beasley with Grandpa acting as rearguard.
‘Don’t stand there like a tailor’s dummy,’ Miranda said, nudging Jack in the ribs. ‘Go and give her a big kiss.’
Moving like a sleepwalker, he went to meet his bride. ‘Izzie, you look absolutely beautiful, darling.’
Clutching a posy of white camellias, Isabel smiled up at him.
Just as they were about to go into the room where the ceremony was to take place there was a flurry
of
activity; Ivy rushed into the vestibule accompanied by the woman who had made Miranda’s life a misery when she worked on the haberdashery counter at Morris and Mawson’s shop. She could not think why Aunt Ivy had chosen Mrs Dowsett to accompany her and she was tempted to say something, but Granny had spotted them and had already gone in on the attack. ‘What are you two doing here? I don’t remember inviting either of you.’
Ivy enveloped her in a warm embrace. ‘Darling, I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I think I might have put my tiny foot in it at your soiree, so I’m here to apologise and wish the young couple well. Dolly loves a wedding and she had the morning off. You love a wedding, don’t you, dear?’
Mrs Dowsett smiled and nodded. ‘Isabel is a sweet girl, and Miranda was such an asset to us on the haberdashery counter. I miss her terribly.’
‘I’ll bet she doesn’t,’ Miranda muttered, glancing at Isabel who was clutching Jack’s arm as if afraid to move a step without him.
‘How did you find out about this?’ Maggie demanded, wriggling free from Ivy’s grasp. ‘It’s supposed to be a quiet family affair.’
Ivy shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Elzevir delivered a load of logs to the guest house where I’m staying until my poor little home is rebuilt. He might have mentioned it in passing.’
Maggie turned on Annie. ‘You told him.’
‘I never did,’ Annie said indignantly.
‘Actually, I did, Mother. It was meant to be a surprise, but Izzie and I will be leaving in style, the old-fashioned way.’ Jack tucked Isabel’s hand in the crook of his arm. ‘You’ll see later. Now let’s go in. You can come too, Aunt Ivy, and bring your friend. The more the merrier.’
‘Not in my book,’ Maggie muttered, casting an angry glance at Ivy. ‘Don’t think you’re coming back to the house afterwards, because you’re not.’
‘Now, now, Maggie,’ George said, taking her arm. ‘This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s put the past behind us. Come along, ladies. We mustn’t keep the registrar waiting.’
The ceremony was brief as there were other couples waiting to be married. Miranda thought it all seemed a bit hurried, but Ivy, Dolly Dowsett and Mrs Beasley sniffled into their handkerchiefs. Maggie glowered at them throughout, but Izzie looked radiant and Jack appeared to be happy but relieved when it was all over. As they stepped outside, as if to order, the sun burst through the clouds. Miranda put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a small paper bag which she had filled with confetti hastily made that morning using the paper punch from her grandfather’s study. She emptied it over the bride and groom, wishing that they had had time to hire a photographer, but to her surprise Ivy had produced a box Brownie from her capacious handbag and was taking photos with the assurance of a professional.
Laughing and shaking confetti from their clothes and hair, Isabel and Jack descended the steps to where Elzevir’s cart was waiting. ‘This is my surprise, darling,’ Jack said, indicating the wagon, which was decorated with branches of laurel and white bows.
‘I supplied the ribbon,’ Mrs Dowsett said smugly. ‘Using my staff discount.’
‘I’ll be sending the bill to you, ma’am,’ Elzevir said, addressing Maggie as he climbed stiffly from the driver’s seat.
Maggie opened her mouth as if to protest but George raised his finger to his lips. ‘Not now, my dear. Let’s just enjoy the day.’
She subsided, casting a withering look at Elzevir but saying nothing. Miranda crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that nothing else would happen to ruffle her grandmother’s feathers. At least Jack and Izzie were now legally married and even if Max turned up there was nothing he could do about it. Jack helped his new bride onto the driver’s seat and was about to climb up beside her when the frantic ringing of a bicycle bell made everyone turn to see who was making such a din.
Rita skidded to a halt at the kerbside. ‘Damn it,’ she said, panting. ‘Am I too late?’
Miranda rushed forward to embrace her. ‘I’m so glad you came, but did you ride that bone-shaker all the way from Warmwell?’