While We're Apart (37 page)

She nodded against his shoulder. ‘I'm not overjoyed by it either, but he's all the family I have and I can't leave him in that prison.'

Ron thought it was the best place for him, but knew better than to say so, for love him or loathe him, Rosie was protective of her younger brother. ‘Ach, I'd better be leaving you to it,' he said after kissing her again. ‘Peggy's got a list as long as her arm of things for me to do, and I can't avoid it any longer.'

‘You'll come in tonight?'

‘Aye, you can be sure of that.'

He whistled to Harvey who was lying on the couch next to Monty, and they went downstairs and out into the street. Now Tommy was expected, Ron would make it his business to keep an eye on Rosie, for he knew how easily the man could manipulate her – and before too long he'd be behind the bar, helping himself to free drinks, and acting the friendly host.

Harvey raced on ahead as they climbed the hill towards Beach View, and was lying on the back step panting as Ron came through the gate.

‘It's about time you showed up,' Peggy greeted him, as she worked the wringer over the stone sink in the scullery. ‘There are a dozen and one things that need doing round the house, and I'm too busy with the weekly wash to get to the shops.'

Ron gave a deep sigh and looked with longing at his shed. He had hoped to while away a couple of hours in there to read his newspaper and smoke his pipe, but Peggy would evidently not be happy about that. He turned on the outside tap to fill Harvey's tin bowl and then went to fetch the heavy basket of wet washing from the scullery, which he carried into the garden and placed beneath the clothes line.

Peggy nodded her thanks. ‘The window in my bedroom is still rattling, and the shelf under the kitchen sink is so bowed with damp and rot it's become useless. I'd like you to mend the kitchen chair, clean out the fire in the range and bring me in more logs, and when you've done that, the front-door hinges need oiling.'

‘Ach, to be sure, you're not wanting much, are ye?'

‘If you did each thing as I asked, they wouldn't mount up,' said Peggy as she briskly hung out the washing.

‘Aye, well, I'll just have a smoke first, then I'm all yours,' he replied as he opened his shed door and plonked down into the deckchair. He could see she wasn't at all happy, but that was a long list and a man could only do one thing at a time.

He lit his pipe and puffed contentedly as he contemplated his vegetable garden. The winter lettuces, beetroot, parsley and radishes were planted in wooden troughs and covered with glass to protect them from frost. The peas and broad beans were doing well and would be a good crop come December and January. There were lines of spinach, chard and kale in another wooden trough, and the carrots, leeks, onions, shallots and potatoes were flourishing. All in all, it was a most satisfactory sight. Now he had Stan's beetroot to plant, he would have to dig out some of the old cloches to cover them with.

‘I went to Doris's for afternoon tea yesterday,' said Peggy. ‘Young Mary is an accomplished pianist, and she played for us all quite beautifully. My sister was on her high horse as usual, but the girl did actually manage to stand up to her.' She grinned. ‘As did Ivy, so there's hope yet for the pair of them.'

Ron nodded, for he knew she wasn't really expecting an answer.

‘Mary came back with me and had tea with us all,' Peggy carried on. ‘She fitted in so well with everyone, I was quite tempted to ask her to stay. After all, I've got that spare bedroom.'

Ron lowered his brows and clenched his teeth round his pipe stem. ‘That could cause trouble between you and Doris.'

‘Hmmph, it wouldn't be anything new, would it?' She snapped the creases out of a blouse before she pegged it on to the line. ‘But I do realise it would make it very awkward for her – and I couldn't ask Mary and not Ivy. And if I did that, the billeting people would be on Doris's back to take in others.'

Peggy paused for a moment, deep in thought, before selecting another blouse. ‘Doris might be difficult, but her home is comfortable and the girls are well fed. Perhaps I shouldn't meddle.'

‘That'd be a first,' he rumbled.

‘There's no need to be grumpy, Ron,' she retorted. ‘I was just saying, that's all. And if the girls really aren't happy there, then I wouldn't mind taking them in. Mary's a lovely girl, you know.'

Ron thought about the long and troubling conversation he'd had with Stan the previous day. If he could get Mary's story from Peggy, it would save his friend from having to question the girl. ‘Oh aye?' he said casually. ‘And I suppose you've managed to learn everything about her within a couple of hours, have you?'

Peggy abandoned the empty laundry basket and dug her hands into her wrap-round apron for her packet of Park Drive cigarettes. ‘Yes,' she replied softly, ‘and it isn't a pretty story. The poor girl has certainly been through the mill these past few weeks.'

Ron was immediately alert, but he covered it by closely inspecting the bowl of his pipe. ‘How's that then?'

‘Well I promised to keep most of it to myself,' said Peggy, ‘but the gist of it is, she's all alone in the world since her adoptive parents were killed by a bomb, and now she seems set on trying to find this Cyril Fielding.' She lit a cigarette and blew out a wreath of smoke. ‘You don't happen to know who that is, do you?'

He avoided the question and continued to tamp down the tobacco in his pipe. ‘Why's she looking for him? Can you tell me that?'

‘Not without breaking my promise.' Peggy eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You've lived in this town nearly all your life and know just about everyone.' Her gaze never wavered. ‘It's very important, Ron, and if you know who he is, then you must tell me.'

Ron knew when he was cornered. ‘If you tell me why it's so important, then I'll tell you about Cyril Fielding,' he said. ‘And be assured, Peggy girl, nothing you tell me will go any further.'

Peggy closed the back door and sat down on the step. ‘So you do know who he is, then?'

‘Aye. But I'm waiting to hear why young Mary is looking for him.'

Ron listened as Peggy related what the girl had told her, and as the full implications of it began to register, he felt a cold shiver trickle down his torso and settle into the pit of his stomach. This was far worse than he ever could have imagined, and he couldn't begin to think of how much trouble it would cause Mary if her story reached the wrong ears.

Peggy stubbed out her cigarette and threw the butt into the nearby rubbish bin. ‘Now you know it all,' she said as she looked at him squarely. ‘Who is Cyril Fielding, Ron – and why are you so reluctant to talk about him?'

He couldn't avoid it any longer. ‘I'm reluctant because Cyril Fielding was the false name used by a man who was selling fake insurances, making off with the proceeds, and leaving people who could ill afford it out of pocket and holding bits of paper that weren't worth a light.' He took a deep breath. ‘He's been out of town for a while now, but he's due to come back today. Cyril Fielding was only one of his many aliases. You'd know him better as Tommy Findlay.'

Peggy stared at him in shock, her mind whirling with everything she'd learnt about Tommy over the years. The very real possibility that he could be Mary's father was unthinkable.

‘You can't tell her, Peggy,' said Ron earnestly. ‘It will only bring her more heartache.'

‘I know,' she breathed, ‘but what if she keeps asking people about him and he gets to hear of it?'

‘We'll have to stop her from asking by telling her we'd heard he'd died some years ago. It's the only way, Peggy.'

She thought about it and then gave a sigh. ‘I hate lying to her, Ron, and lies have an awful way of coming back to haunt you when the truth is uncovered. What if she discovered somehow that he's still alive and living at the Anchor?' Her eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh God. The Anchor. Mary has made friends with Rosie and will be in and out of there to see her and play the piano in the bar – and Tommy will be there too.' She scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘What a mess, Ron. What a terrible, terrible mess.'

There was a long silence before Ron spoke again. ‘I suppose you could have a quiet word with her, and without naming names, tell her the bald truth about her father's character. From what you've told me, she's a nice girl who's been carefully brought up, and is already a bit suspicious that Cyril wasn't quite what he seemed when he handed her over to the vicar and his wife and then disappeared. Faced with the fact that he's a sleazy out-and-out crook, and has spent time in gaol for fraud, embezzlement and black-marketeering, it might put her off trying to find him.'

Peggy thought about this. There were so many things that Ron didn't know – secrets that she'd held for years – which were now in danger of being brought out into the open if something wasn't done quickly. She felt as if she was trapped on a runaway train, with no way off and no one to turn to for help.

‘Peggy?'

She returned to the present and got to her feet. ‘I'll do as you suggest, Ron,' she said wearily. ‘The girl trusts me, and knows I only want what's best for her. It will be all too easy to put Tommy in a very black light – and I'll make sure she takes my advice and stops her search.'

‘I can see you don't like having to do this, Peg, but to be sure 'tis the only answer.'

‘But I still worry about her meeting him at the Anchor, Ron. You know what that man's like when it comes to women – especially the young pretty ones.' She gave a little shiver of revulsion. ‘He's a lounge lizard and thinks his vulpine charm is irresistible.'

‘I'll keep an eye on her, don't you fret. If he makes one move on her, or says something I don't think is appropriate, I'll soon put him in his place,' he growled.

‘Don't go getting into a fight with him, Ron,' said Peggy hastily. ‘It will only make things worse and raise questions you have no way of answering if we're to keep Mary's secret to ourselves.'

Ron got out of the deckchair and stretched. ‘D'ye think Rosie ever had an inkling that he might have fathered a child outside his marriage? If Mary was born here, she could easily have got to hear about it.'

‘Who's to say what Rosie knows,' she replied almost dismissively as she picked up the laundry basket and headed back into the scullery. She watched as he fetched some tools and the oil can from his shed, and waited until he'd gone up the steps into the kitchen before she slumped against the stone sink, her thoughts in chaos.

There were parts of Mary's story that didn't fit the picture as she knew it – but then Tommy always had had a glib tongue, and no doubt lied through his teeth to that poor naïve vicar. Yet Mary was not the only one who had to be protected from all this, and although she hated having to be economic with the truth to the girl, it was necessary if Rosie was to remain unaware of the dangerously unfolding drama that surrounded her. She'd been hurt too badly and had suffered because of it over the years – and it was vital not to reopen those old wounds.

Peggy stood there for a long while, her thoughts churning. There was one other person inextricably involved in all this – and as she had no reason to doubt the validity of the vicar's diary entry, she began to wonder how big a part they had played in the cruel deceit. It was a tangled, deadly web of lies and betrayal, and she would have to be very careful not to disturb the spider of truth that lurked at its heart waiting to ensnare them all.

MARY'S SHOULDERS AND
neck ached, and her bottom felt quite numb from the hours of sitting on a hard chair as she bent over the table. Yet, as the hooter went for the end of her shift, she was feeling very positive about things. The job was easy, if a little tedious; she was doing her bit for the boys fighting abroad, the money wasn't at all bad, and the girls she was working with seemed a nice bunch.

Having collected her coat and gas-mask box from the locker, she followed the others and almost forgot to clock out in her eagerness to get into the fresh air.

‘You'll soon get used to the routine and the stiff neck,' said Jenny as they walked out of the factory into the dark of a winter's late afternoon. ‘If you roll your shoulders and ease out the muscles regularly, you won't feel half as sore.'

Mary smiled. ‘I suppose it must get easier as time goes on. How long have you been doing it?'

Jenny pulled off her headscarf and ran her fingers through her tangled fair hair. ‘For almost a year,' she replied. ‘The factory only opened here back in August, and I was seconded down from Surrey to take charge of the initial sorting. It's nice being by the sea again,' she said, smiling. ‘I remember coming here on holiday before the war with my parents. What about you?'

‘I only arrived on Friday, and this is the first real job I've ever had, so everything is all still very new to me.'

‘It won't take long to settle in.' Jenny hitched the strap of her gas-mask box over her shoulder. ‘Which way are you heading now?'

‘Down there. I'm billeted in Havelock Road.'

The other girl gave a wry grin. ‘Lucky you. I'm stuck right over there in a requisitioned house with three families, all of which have at least one screaming baby. It's murder trying to sleep, because one seems to be on the go whatever the hour.' She glanced over Mary's shoulder. ‘There's your friend. I'll see you tomorrow.'

As Jenny headed for the gate, Ivy came thudding up in her heavy boots. ‘I'm sorry, gel, but I've been offered two hours' overtime at extra money, so you'll have to go back on yer own.'

‘That's all right. I'll make sure there's something hot for you when you get in.'

‘Thanks – and don't let 'er ladyship boss yer about. After what Peggy said yesterday, I reckon it's time she done 'er own cooking and cleaning. Neither of us should 'ave to do it after an 'ard day's work.' She chuckled. ‘How did you get on today then?'