i 69ef9ff463a71164 (20 page)

When Bertrand Parley asked Grace to dance she wanted very much to refuse. Andrew had gone, the night was over for her, she wanted to get back home, but Donald wasn't in sight and she could hardly make a move without him. Several pairs of eyes were on them wondering how the vicar's wife would deal with young Parley and him bottled, and she saw that the least embarrassing thing would be to accept his invitation.

Should she refuse, he would likely start on a bout of maudlin persuasion.

The dance was a waltz and they had been circling erratically for only a short time before he gave an exaggerated sigh, and, bringing his face down to hers, he whispered, "Know something'? I promised myself this the first time I saw you.

"She'll be a spiffin' dancer," I said.

"I'll dance with her one day," that's what I said. Know something'? I think you're the best looker in Northumberland . honest. "

He stopped in his dancing, pulling Grace to a halt. She had made no comment, and so he said, "You don't believe me? " His bulbous eyes looked as if they were going to drop out of their sockets.

"Do you want to go on with the dance?"

The floor was so packed that the incident passed unnoticed.

"Look ... His arm drew her more tightly to him.

"I know girls ... I know women ... all types, all classes. Oh yes, little Bertrand's been around."

He was coming to a stop when she said, "We'd better sit down."

"No, no." He waltzed her more swiftly now.

"I'm not drunk, don't think I'm drunk. I've had a few. It's New Year's Eve ... no ... New Year's Day. We're at war, d'you know that?

And little Bertrand here might go and be killed. Any moment little Bertrand might go and be killed and then you'll be sorry you weren't nice to him."

"Will you stop being silly, or do I have to sit down?"

For answer he waltzed her even more quickly. But when he stumbled and nearly brought them both to the floor she forced him to stop and said coldly, "I think we'd better sit down."

"All right, all right, anything you say. You order, I obey. And how!

Let's sit on the balcony, eh? In the moonlight on the balcony. That's what the villain does. When the villain's going after the parson's wife he takes her on the moonlight in the balcony. "

At this verbal mix-up Grace laughed. She had to be annoyed or she had to laugh . she decided to laugh.

"What you want is a pot of strong coffee."

"Anything you say. Lead on. Coffee it is. Coffee it must be. There's nothing stronger in this joint, I suppose. Old Barker's sold out. We called in there; he was as dry as a haddock. Not even any droppings.

That's what war does. Expects you to be a brave little boy and no fire water. Daft. " He talked as he rocked gently behind Grace along the passage towards the school kitchen.

There was only Mrs. Twait and Kate Shawcross in the kitchen, and Grace, looking at Mrs. Twait, asked, "Is there any coffee left, Mrs.

Twait?"

"Yes, plenty." Mrs. Twait lifted up the jug from the stove.

"Happy New Year, Miss Shawcross," Bertrand Parley was bowing low to the post mistress and with a look that held no touch of Christian spirit or yet the spirit of a new-born year, Kate passed him without a word and left the kitchen.

"There, she thinks I'm drunk. I'm - I'm not drunk, am I?" He now appealed to Mrs. Twait. And Mrs. Twait's small compact body began to wobble with her laughter and she said, "Well, I wouldn't say you were drunk, Mr. Parley, but at the same time I wouldn't say you were a kick in the backside of it." On this and a high laugh she also left the kitchen.

"Here, drink this." Grace handed him a cup of black coffee. She had never liked Bertrand Parley, but at this moment, strangely, she saw nothing to dislike in him. He was silly, empty-headed, he was drunk and, who knew, as he said, he might be dead this time next year.

"Thanks. Thank you, my fair lady, my fair goddess of the pukka parsonage." He took a drink of the coffee and then made a horrible grimace.

"Ooh ...! Oooh, my God! What stuff! Nevertheless thanks .. Grace..

Nice name. Grace. I made up a poem about you once. Ah that surprises you, doesn't it, that I can write poetry? Oh, I'm a deep one. You must get to know me. What about it. Grace what about getting to know me?"

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly, honest to God. Serious, thought about it a lot.

What you say, eh? What about it? I'll write

another poem about you . about Grace . Darling. Ha ha! That's funny. Grace Darling! "

She had turned from him to put the jug on the stove when his arm came round her shoulders.

"Grace Darling."

Now she ceased to be amused and was on the point of shrugging herself away when a voice spoke from the doorway. It said "Grace," and they both turned to see Donald standing there.

"Are you ready for home?"

"Yes. Oh yes." She moved hastily forward.

"I... I was just telling your.. your wife ... " Bertrand Parley walked unsteadily towards Donald. Then, shaking his head, he said, "What was I telling her? Oh yes." He now thrust his finger towards Donald's chest saying, "You've got a very beautiful woman, Mr. Vicar, do you know that? You're a lucky bloke, do you know that, eh? And there's something else I'd like to tell you. You know I've always wanted to tell you this. That girl, that beau ... beautiful girl should have stuck to the pian ... piano;

an' another thing . "I'm afraid I haven't got time to listen."

Donald's voice was deadly cold. He stared with almost open hatred at the blinking eyelids and blurred pupils of young Parley before turning from him and walking hastily down the passage after Grace. Ten minutes later they were going up the hill towards home and for the third time since leaving the hall Donald said, "You must really think me a fool, I heard what he said. He called you Grace, darling, and a man doesn't do that on the spur of the moment, drunk or not. You can't tell me that."

Grace had already given him the true version of this episode . she had stated her defence . and now she remained quiet until they reached the drive to the house when Donald, still talking, said, "You forget your position. You're the vicar's wife; you frequently forget that, and ..

" And Grace Darling was the lighthouse-keeper's daughter," Grace cried flippantly.

"I tell you, Donald, he was quoting Grace Darling, he wasn't calling me Grace ... darling."

They were in the drawing-room now. The fire was blazing merrily, Stephen's first Christmas tree was sparkling in the far corner of the room, the holly was lying in strips at the foot of the coloured plates that lined the rack high up round the walls. The setting looked like a picture you would see on a Christmas card, charming, warm and inviting, yet at this moment she hated it and the whole house . and its master.

Its master most of all, for there he stood, determined to go on with his cross-examination until she admitted the truth. What truth? She had told him the truth. She turned her back on him and closed her eyes as he said, "Well, supposing I wasn't hearing aright, were my eyes deceiving me when I saw him with his arm about you?"

She had had enough; she couldn't stand the sound of his voice a moment longer, she would have to combat it with something. Swinging round, she said, "No, they didn't deceive you, no more than my eyes did when I saw you holding hands with Kate Shawcross in the vestry." If she had levelled a tommy-gun at his chest he couldn't have shown more surprise, and she cried at him, "Yes, yes, now I'm the accuser and you are on the defensive. Dear, dear Kate," she mimicked his attitude and his voice

'what would I have done without you? Dear . dear Kate. "

"Be quiet! Be quiet!" His face was as red as a turkey cock's.

"It wasn't like that at all, you misunderstood."

"Oh yes, I - I misunderstood." Her head went back on a harsh laugh.

"All right then, I misunderstood, but

nevertheless you were standing in the vestry, her hands tightly locked in yours, and she was gazing up at you in adoration. "

"Be quiet, will you! I know the time you are referring to. It was nothing like that at all. I was merely thanking her for all the work she had done."

"Yes, yes, I understand, and consoling her because she was disappointed there wasn't going to be a war and she wouldn't be called upon to run the village besides running the church."

"Grace, if you dare say another word!" He was standing near her, towering over her.

"Yes, what will you do?" She waited while they glared at each other.

And then she added, "Because a drunken man talks a lot of damn nonsense you accuse me of encouraging him. You say I did it in front of over a hundred people because I danced with him. Yet I see you with my own eyes making love to Kate Shawcross " Don't say that! Don't say that!

" His voice thundered at her in denial.

"I wasn't making love to Miss Shawcross."

"No, you weren't Donald, and I believe you, for you're not capable of making love to anyone." She thought for a moment he was going to strike her. There was a terrible look on his face. But this could not daunt her and she gabbled on now, "But Kate Shawcross doesn't know that;

she thinks you're in love with her, and if it wasn't for me she would be mistress here, and of the church. Oh, don't let us forget, of the church. "

"You're out of your mind, woman; you're out of your mind altogether."

"I'm not out of my mind and you know it, and I don't care about Kate Shawcross being in love with you. I'm sorry for her, for she's being deceived." Her tongue was running away with her. She was on the point of adding, 'as you are being deceived', and the next moment she would have flung at him the name of Andrew Maclntyre. But the drawing-room door swung open and Aggie stood there in her dressing-gown. She stood looking from one to the other in silence, then she said, "I'd be a little quieter if I were you. Besides waking the child, people away on the road will hear you, and there'll be plenty going up and down on this morning, at any rate."

"This happens to be--' Donald had reached his full stature and his face had taken on a purple tinge on sight of Aggie.

Aggie raised her hand.

"All right, all right, don't tell me. This is your house and you are the master in it and you can shout as much as you like. But it doesn't appear to me to be very seemly for the vicar and his wife to be going on like this on New Year's morning. Unless of course there's an excuse because you are drunk.... And of course that's not something that can be ruled out altogether, is it?" Aggie's tongue too had run away with her, and with that last crack she knew she had closed the door on future visits to the vicarage. Well, that wouldn't worry her, she'd had more than a bellyful of the big sanctimonious "I am' during these holidays. How that girl put up with it she didn't know. She returned Donald's furious glare with a disdainful glance, then went out. And Grace, after one last look at her husband, followed her.

Not until they were in Aggie's room and Grace had sunk on to the edge of the bed did they speak.

"He's found out?"

"No, no." Grace moved her head from side to side.

"You'll never believe it but he thinks I'm having an affair with Bertrand Parley."

"Bertrand Parley? That goggle-eyed fathead?"

"That goggle-eyed fathead."

"In the name of God!"

"Yes, Aunt Aggie, in the name of God," and then she added, "That's the second time I've been on the point of telling him the truth and something's happened."

"Are you sorry?"

"I don't know. I really don't know. Aunt Aggie."

It was in October 1940 that Deckford had its first raid. It was on a Tuesday night and it started at half past seven.

The inhabitants complained that the war had changed the village out of all recognition. What they really referred to was the R.

A.

F camp that had risen in the valley only a mile to the west of the village. It was a fighter base and both night and day planes flew backwards and forwards over the fells until, as some hardy souls said, they couldn't get to sleep if they didn't hear them. And then there were the R.

A.

F men themselves. Every day the village street was like market day in Morpeth, and on Saturday afternoon there was as much chance of getting a bus into town as of chartering a private plane.

And the evacuees. There were not so many as yet, but enough to make competition rather keen to billet airmen who were living out with their wives, for such couples meant more money and less trouble than looking after somebody else's hairns.

But there was no doubt that the countryside around the village had changed completely. The moorlands were studded with pyramidal shapes of concrete, rolls of barbed wire met you at every turn, and men had started to work on the far side of the quarry again, cutting out great slabs of rock where the workmen had left off years previously.

This last had come as a great blow to Grace, for Andrew, now in the Highland Fusiliers'was stationed in Scotland, which was, after all, not very far away,

and after the first two months of square-bashing he had managed to slip home every other week. Following one period, when they hadn't been able to meet for nearly six weeks. Grace began to visit her Aunt Aggie every Saturday. Most times she took the child with her, but when she didn't Mrs. Blenkinsop stayed on until her return. If on her visit she did not see Andrew there would be letters awaiting her from him, and in Aggie's comfortable little secluded house she would sit in peace and peruse them, then write at length about what was in her heart. Such was the pattern of Grace's life during the first months of 1940.

Saturday, 1 June, 1940, was a fateful day it saw the end of Dunkirk.

Three men from the village and Bertrand Parley, all in the same regiment, were known to be in the retreat, and nothing had been heard of them until three o'clock in the afternoon when Colonel Parley came rushing down to the ARP centre, his bloated, lined face aglow. He had just had a call from Dover: