Maggie's Girl (14 page)

‘Adèle! I hope you don't mind?' Her hand waved vaguely towards the picture. ‘I had to see it. He's just as I remembered.' 

Adèle took her arm.

‘Please don't worry. I'm so glad we've seen each other – and I'm really glad you came to the funeral.' Adèle smiled at the woman with whom her life had become so inextricably entwined.

‘I nearly didn't, but I'm glad now, too.'

In the end, she'd followed her instincts and slipped into the back of the church, paying her respects to Ned's father, who hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd painted him all those years.

‘I can't deny it gave me a bit of a turn, seeing Maggie such a part of the family,' she admitted honestly.

It had hurt, to see Maggie leaving the church just behind Adèle, shepherding the children into the funeral car as part of Silas Bradshaw's closest family. No wonder folk spilling from the church stopped and wondered. It had made Daisy wonder, an' all!

But they were family. People could think what they liked – the war alone was changing everything.

‘It's good it's out in the open at last,' Adèle said, and Daisy nodded. Let their Maggie give Adèle some comfort, if she could!

They linked arms and went back downstairs.

‘I went for a walk after the funeral,' Daisy said. ‘Up by the Chevin – I used to go there with Ned …' She stopped.

‘Please go on,' Adèle encouraged. ‘I like to think of you with Ned.'

What memories it had stirred, Ned and Maggie, the whole business. What might have happened in Daisy's life, if only…

She'd leaned against the solid security of the wall at the top of the little country lane, feeling its rough contours through the thin cotton of her one and only decent black dress, her gaze roaming along the red, squat factory, over the bowl of the valley
to the pitheads against the sky beyond. What a mess Silas Bradshaw had made of the town, one way or another!

‘There was something wrong with the view,' she explained to Adèle. ‘I couldn't imagine what it was, but of course, it was the chimney – the chimney wasn't smoking.'

‘The girls were given the day off.' Adèle nodded. ‘I was surprised how many came to church, or lined the route.'

It had seemed to Daisy as if the chimney, too, was in mourning for its owner. But then, the whole town was
diminished
by the lack of Silas Bradshaw, like a light going out. Silas Bradshaw had been Castle Maine.

‘I miss him, Adèle,' Daisy murmured. She hadn't expected that.

Adèle Bradshaw did something she'd been longing to do for a while. To Daisy's surprise and gratitude, she threw her arms around her and gave her a heartfelt hug.

‘I'm glad you changed your mind, Dad.' Billy ignored his father's grunt of disapproval as they walked towards the Baseball Ground.

Thoughts of spending the afternoon watching Peter Doherty's neat footwork added an extra spring to his step.

‘Raich Carter an' all!' He was still trying to elicit some response. ‘I still can't believe they're turning out for us! It's just our good luck they're both based at RAF Loughborough.'

Still no answer, and Billy's spirits began to plunge.

They'd caught the football special from Castle Maine into Derby, walking up St Peter's to the Spot and calling at the pub for a quick half, before taking the short cut through the arboretum.

A steady stream of folk, mostly men, were making their way
towards the famous ground, and Billy felt a rush of affection. The old girl was already full by the sounds of it, the excited roar rising above the brick-built terraces that surrounded the stadium.

The players must be out! They were late.

‘Hurry up, Dad!' Billy picked up the pace.

Spectators clutching rattles, wrapped in black and white scarves despite the sunshine, were queuing patiently to get in. The Baseball Ground roar had grown to a crescendo by the time they finally pushed their way through the creaking turnstile on to the shabby little terrace at the Normanton Road end.

There was nothing like the atmosphere here on match days, the press of bodies, the fug of cigarette smoke, the roaring swell which seemed to suck the ball goal-wards. No wonder
opponents
quailed!

The ref blew his whistle and the match kicked off. Billy grabbed hold of Peter's arm and barged through until they were near the halfway line, his eyes on the stocky, charismatic figure of silverhaired Raich Carter, already speeding goal-wards, the ball glued to his feet.

He shot. The crowd roared, the goalie saved and they all surged forwards.

‘Glad you've come?' Billy grinned, regaining his feet, and Peter grabbed the safety barrier, heaving himself upright, his eyes full of excitement.

‘Suppose.' His eyes were on the green and hallowed turf. ‘Blimey, ref, that was a foul! Did you see that, our Billy?'

Despite efforts to the contrary, the football drew him in. How could he be amongst this vast crowd and think of anything else? They both forgot they were at loggerheads, forgot the war and their respective opinions on it.

‘Pass it – pass it now! Ref, are you blind! Brilliant save, goalie.
That were never a corner! Pass it here – too late! Now you're for it …'

The afternoon flew by. Half-time passed, and there was no end to the stalemate.

Miraculously, with five minutes to go, Peter Doherty robbed the Forces' full-back, skirted neatly round their winger and centred.

Raich Carter, hair glinting like a halo, rose above the packed penalty area, and met the ball with a bullet header which bulged the back of the net.

A split second of incredulity, and then Peter and Billy were propelled by the sheer joy of the moment into each other's arms, their yells swallowed in a cacophony of sound.

They sheepishly drew apart when the noise began to die down.

‘Brilliant!' Peter cried, beaming happily. What did anything matter? Billy was his son, and he loved him.

‘Dad!'

It was all Billy could say. He turned away to wipe the tears, aware only of his father's hand resting lightly on his arm.

Shaking the rain from her umbrella, Maggie threw open her grandmother's front door and ushered Mary inside. She had a couple of days off between shifts, so the sisters had spent the morning shopping in town, while Peter had the dubious pleasure of looking after the twins.

They'd had a grand time, pretending for once things were as they used to be before the war.

Maggie dropped the shopping to help Mary off with her coat, relieved to see the bloom back on her sister's face. The trip had done her good.

She'd never heard the full story of what had gone wrong between Mary and John, though she could have made an educated guess.

Bless John, if she was right, for if ever two people were totally in love—

‘I'm really pleased things are working out for you and John,' she said.

‘And what about you and Andrew?' Mary's eyes were
twinkling
. ‘Any sign of wedding bells? You should have heard me mam this morning going on about a new hat!'

Maggie shook her head, remembering Andrew's last leave. He'd been desperate to rush her off to the registrar's.

‘Let's get to the end of this wretched war, and we'll see.'

Which was roughly what she'd said to Andrew, even though she knew her answer was a disappointment. It just had to be the right time.

‘I can't help wondering what's going to happen, now the Second Front's started,' she added. Both John and Andrew were involved in the fierce fighting in Europe. Dangerous times, no matter how close the war was to ending.

‘There you are!'

Adèle appeared at the drawing-room door, and Maggie's eyes softened.

‘You won't believe the amount of shopping we've done! How are you?'

‘Better for seeing you, my dear.' Adèle smiled at them both. ‘And Mary's here – well done! Mr Brownlow's just arrived. You'll join us for tea?'

‘Thanks, but we called in at the Pavilion tearooms.'

At first sight the room looked full, though it was far from that. Stamps stood by the tea-tray, Bertie and Connie Bertram were
drinking tea by the empty fireplace, and the family solicitor sat at the polished mahogany table, case open, shuffling papers.

Maggie had been dreading the day Silas's will would be read. Any reminder of her darling husband was hard for Adèle to bear.

Mr Brownlow looked up quickly. All interested parties were present, a remarkably small gathering, he thought. A family tree that should have been large and thriving so cruelly cut down by the last war.

Maggie gave Adèle's hand a small and reassuring squeeze as Mr Brownlow stood up.

Conversation ceased.

The solicitor shot a glance towards Adèle, who gave a nod.

‘If that's as you all wish. We'll start with the small bequests.

‘A trust fund for the hospital. Small sums to each of his favourite charities. Two thousand pounds each to the family retainers, Harold Stokes and Albert Stamps, in recognition of loyal service.'

The butler's gasp was audible. The old man leaned briefly on the tea table before pulling himself upright.

‘I, Silas Bradshaw, being of sound mind—'

‘Oh, get on with it!' Bertie interrupted testily.

‘Bertie, let the man speak!' Connie laid a hand of restraint on her husband's arm.

The solicitor sighed. ‘I leave Bradshaw House and my residual estate to my beloved wife, Adèle, for her lifetime. After her death it is to be divided equally between my much-loved grandchildren, John Bertram and Maggie Bates …'

Gasps of shock rippled round the room. Maggie's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Adèle's grip on her arm tightened.

‘Given my grandson John Bertram's often expressed wish to follow his father into their family business, and knowing his future to be assured, I leave my businesses – the mines, the Bradshaw Works and Bradshaw Cotton Spinners – in the more than capable hands of my granddaughter, Maggie Bates.'

This time the shock was palpable. No one spoke, but Bertie Bertram let out a long whistle.

Maggie began to tremble. Voices ebbed, but Adèle took hold of both her arms, bringing her gradually back down to earth.

‘You'll be fine, don't worry,' her grandmother whispered. ‘This was exactly what Silas wanted.'

T
he roses were just coming into bloom. Stokes had been busy since before VE Day filling the Bradshaws' garden with flowers, as an alternative to the vegetables that had seen them through the war years.

Maggie strolled down the path, her hand lingering over the blowsy petals of a white rose which reminded her instantly of Hughie, and the roses Granddad Oakes had grown for their wedding all those years since. She remembered going with Gramps to pick them the morning they were wed. White roses and tiny pastel coloured wild flowers – how beautiful they'd been!

Dear Hughie. They'd been so much in love, so full of plans for their future. How could they have guessed the way things would turn out!

She sighed. It was true. As her mother said, sometimes it was best not to know …

‘There you are!' Daisy's voice reached her long before she rounded the corner by the laburnums. She was in a flap, Maggie saw at once.

‘Happen you've forgotten you've a wedding on?' she scolded, her face red with the rush of the morning. ‘If you're not at the door in ten minutes flat, madam, the car will be off to church without you.'

‘Isn't the bride supposed to keep the groom waiting?' her daughter teased.

‘Waiting is one thing,' came the tart response. ‘We've no need of the vicar locking up and going home. A reception and no wedding? Is that what you're after?'

Something about her mother's expression brought the smile back to Maggie's face. She was looking forward to the reception, and what was more natural than it should be held here? She'd moved into the big house with the children months since,
ostensibly
to live somewhere more in keeping with their new position in life. They all knew it was so she could keep an eye on Adèle, who'd grown increasingly frail of late.

And this morning, Maggie was marrying Andrew Hardaker at St Swithin's, the church where the Bradshaw family had always worshipped, rather than St Mark's, where she'd married Hughie.

Daisy was standing, hands on hips, gazing at the girl.

‘If you're having second thoughts, I wish you'd say so.' Her eyes narrowed. ‘It's never too late!'

‘Give over, Mam! Who's got pre-wedding nerves, thee or me?' Maggie's smile broadened. She and Andrew were so right for each other.

She laid her hands gently on her mother's shoulders.

‘You know how much I love him,' she said, and Daisy relaxed, returning the smile. Even she, born worrier that she was, was forced to agree Andrew and Maggie loved each other. It was obvious to everyone.

‘Is it this other business with the inheritance?' she insisted. ‘I know Andrew isn't exactly happy about it.'

‘Of course he isn't happy!' Maggie cried. ‘He proposed to a staff nurse, not the owner of half of Castle Maine.' 

Daisy herself was still reeling from the shock. If her own poor father had ever had the slightest idea Silas would up and leave his business empire to Maggie!

‘It's a big thing for anyone to take in,' she conceded.

‘Andrew won't let a little thing like money come between us, if that's what you mean! It's who we are inside that counts.'

‘Then what is it?' Now they'd started, Daisy was determined to get to the bottom of things.

‘I'm not sure I can cope with all this.' Maggie flapped her hands, vaguely encompassing Castle Maine, but most of all the factory. ‘Even Andrew thinks it's too much.'

‘He's right. It is too much,' her mother answered quietly.

‘But I am trying, Mam!'

Maggie had given up nursing to spend all her time trying to acquaint herself with her new environment. It was mostly a question of sitting and hearing what other folk had to say. What else could she do?

She stepped back, chewing her bottom lip.

‘The girls resent me, you know, Mam.'

‘Of course they don't!'

‘They do, and why shouldn't they? Most of the other women know me as Maggie Bridges, factory girl, or Maggie Bates, staff nurse. They don't know how to treat me any more. Come to that, I hardly know myself!'

Blind panic about described it. Maggie was no
businesswoman
, and at first it had seemed an impossible burden. She'd known the town would run wild at the news, but she'd never guessed it was going to be this bad.

‘Do you know the worst thing, Mam? I thought Silas loved me!' Maggie's fine blue eyes clouded. ‘And then he leaves me his business empire. Why? Was he trying to make a fool of me?'

‘Oh, Maggie! Of course he loved you.' Even Daisy knew that now. She drew her daughter into her arms.

‘You'll make a success of this, don't you worry!' She gazed into the eyes that were so like Silas's. ‘Don't forget there's Bradshaw blood in your veins.'

‘Andrew!' Herta Fleischmann shouted upstairs. ‘The car's arrived! You want to keep your bride waiting?'

And such a beautiful bride. The refugee's soft heart was warm with joy at the delightful way everything had turned out.

Maggie Bates was so right for this quiet and reserved Englishman who had taken in Herta and her husband.

Herta's life was very different now. With Andrew's help, she and Klaus had found themselves a small flat in the centre of Castle Maine.

Klaus had found use for his engineering skills at the Rolls Royce factory in Derby, while Herta was still working here for Andrew, and was moving with him to look after Mrs Bradshaw after the wedding.

There was plenty for her to do at the big house – she could still take charge of Andrew, carry on treating him like the son she'd lost at the start of this terrible war.

At last Andrew appeared, pale shreds of tissue sticking to his chin where he'd cut himself shaving, followed closely by his best man, whom he'd known since medical school. Neville Sayers had operated on Maggie's stepfather when he'd been injured in a mining accident.

Herta straightened his tie, fussing with the carnation picked from the garden, her eyes crinkling in amusement.

‘Is wedding you go to, not funeral. You marry a beautiful woman! Cheer up!' 

As if she needed to remind him, for if Herta had ever seen a man in love …

Andrew's eyes softened instantly.

‘She's the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm the luckiest of men.'

‘And the most besotted,' Neville growled, walking past. ‘I'll go and have a word with the driver.'

‘It's too late for her to back out now,' Andrew asserted, as if there were any doubt of it.

‘As if she would. She's a lucky woman!' she teased, patting his face, and he caught her hand.

‘A bad case of nerves, I expect! Confronted with one of my patients in this state, that's exactly what I'd tell him.'

‘What's the matter?'

Andrew sighed.

‘I was rather hoping we'd be working together after we were married, at the hospital or here in Castle Maine.' It had been a dream of his – of Maggie's, too, he'd thought – helping the poorer folk of Castle Maine. But then they'd heard about Silas Bradshaw's will …

‘I don't want to lose her, Herta!'

‘Stuff and nonsense!' Herta had no doubts whatsoever, ‘Maggie is a strong woman, Andrew, I can tell. Whatever happens, you'll cope.'

Why was she so sure?

‘You love her?' she asked.

‘Of course!' Andrew smiled. ‘She's turned my life inside out, and I wouldn't change a bit of it.'

Herta pushed him towards the door.

‘Go and marry her, then,' she said.

‘Isn't it beautiful?' Alec Browning laughed at the expression on Holly's face and flung his arms wide, encompassing the summer flowers in the garden and the views over Castle Maine. The simple things he'd taken for granted seemed so wonderful since he'd been demobbed.

‘And as for you, young lady—' He turned towards her, suddenly serious. He hadn't the words to describe Holly.

She smiled, slipping her arm into his, walking with him in a companionable silence towards Adèle's ornamental pond. They were both relieved to be out of the house where Gran was in a flap, Adèle countermanding her every order, and as for Mam – she was going about in a daze. The place was like a tinder-box waiting to go up.

‘You're looking lovely,' Alec said.

‘And so I should for my own mother's wedding.' She fingered the organza of her bridesmaid's dress with a sense of wonder. Clothing coupons didn't go far. If it hadn't been for one of Daisy's clients with contacts in the States, and a length of blue organza left over from her own daughter's wedding – well, Gran had sat until all hours sewing Mam's dress and her own.

‘I'm pleased my mother's seen sense at last. Andrew's been on at her to marry him long enough.'

‘She'd be waiting for the end of the war. I know I couldn't wait for it to finish!' Alec twined his fingers in hers. ‘When I think how we felt when we first joined up—'

‘I can't believe we were so foolish!' Holly grinned.

‘We were young.' Alec felt the need to stick up for their younger selves.

‘Bone-headed, more like! At least we've more sense now. No wonder VE Day was so wild.'

She'd met Alec in London that day, and they'd gone to a party.
It had spilled out into the streets, carrying them with a flood of folk into Trafalgar Square.

They'd become trapped, unable to move a finger for all those thousands of folk, delirious with joy without the words to express it. A life sentence, then instant freedom – she'd never forget it!

Holly's eyes widened in memory, and with a maturity beyond her years. The war had made her grow up faster than she ought, robbing her of something precious in the process. Robbing them both. Their lives had depended on their growing up fast.

‘What will you do now, Alec?'

‘Now I've got my life back?' He paused, then took himself by surprise. ‘I'm going into Dad's business. After all those
arguments
I had with him about it – don't I know better now!' His eyes grew serious.

‘All I want is peace and a chance to build something solid, a future I can depend on – that we can depend on …' His eyes blazed with an intensity she couldn't fail to see.

‘You know how I feel about you?' He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

‘Of course I know. It's how I feel about you, too!'

‘Marry me!'

She stood against his chest, feeling his heartbeat in time with her own, momentarily tempted, but very clear what she wanted.

Of course she'd thought about marrying Alec – some time in the future.

She drew away, seeking the words.

‘Holly, you do love me, don't you?'

She nodded.

‘It's just – oh, Alec, I'm not sure love's enough any more!'

She turned away, unable to bear the expression on his face,
and walked to the pond, watching the fish skim the surface of the water between the lilies.

‘The war has changed everything.' She looked up to the blue skies as if for inspiration. ‘It's changed me. At one time I couldn't wait to get home – I wanted exactly what you want now. Peace, quiet, security.'

‘But now?' There was a lump in his throat making it
impossible
to swallow.

‘I've come to a different way of thinking.' She stared at the water. There was a splash as a fish jumped for a mayfly.

‘Life's for living. I won't miss a single minute of it. I can't tie myself down, Alec, not yet.'

‘But I'd never tie you down!'

‘You would. How could you help it?'

‘I don't understand!'

‘I want to take up that place at Oxford.'

‘Whatever for?' His voice was harsh.

‘To get a degree, of course!'

How ironic! This was what Mam had always wanted for her, and Holly was doing it of her own volition.

‘After that, I don't know. But whatever comes, I mean to make the most of it!'

‘And us?' he asked brokenly.

‘I don't think there ever was an us,' she admitted quietly. ‘Just a girl and boy too young to be caught up in such a terrible war, clinging to each other because they had to cling to something.'

‘You don't know what you're saying!'

‘But I do, Alec. If we do this now, we'll be heading for trouble. I just know it.'

He looked deep into her eyes, seeing what she'd buried there and should have told him long since.

Then he admitted defeat, stepping away. Without hesitation, he went back up the path towards the house.

‘What's up with our Holly and her young man?'

Peter was standing with Adèle and Daisy at the top of the steps, watching Alec help Holly into the car, folding her dress on to her knees. His face was pinched.

‘I'm not sure.' Despite the rush that morning, Daisy still had time to notice the pair had been quiet since they'd returned from their walk. She wasn't surprised they'd had an argument. Holly had been in a mighty strange mood since she'd come home.

‘She's grown up,' Adèle murmured, giving Daisy's arm an affectionate squeeze.

‘Too grown-up for her own good!' Daisy sniffed. ‘I expect we'll find out what it is soon enough. It isn't like our Holly to keep things to herself.'

She'd no need to wonder what side of the family Holly's impetuosity came from. Silas Bradshaw had never been one to sleep on a thing.

‘Are you ready?' Alec bounded up the steps towards them, doing his best to put a brave face on things.

Peter lingered, enjoying the late spring sun, while Alec armed the women down the steps into the car. Behind the runabout, the Daimler waited, festooned with ribbons, ready to take Maggie to church.