Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (36 page)

‘I certainly don’t envy him working in the tropics,’ said Cordelia, ‘and of course one has to be very careful how food is prepared and cooked in places like that. It’s little wonder he’s got a touch of Delhi belly.’

‘He’s got a stomach lined with asbestos, has my Jim,’ said Peggy fondly. ‘He’ll get over it soon enough.’

‘Well of course he’s feeling rough. So would you if you’d eaten something that was off.’

Peggy didn’t correct her, but picked Daisy up from the floor and cleaned her hands and face. ‘It’s a lovely day out there,’ she said loudly over her shoulder. ‘Do you fancy a walk to the shops?’

‘Pansies and hops? Whatever are you talking about, dear? They don’t have those in India.’

That hearing aid had to be on the blink again. ‘I said, would you fancy going to the shops?’ she shouted.

‘That’s a very good idea,’ Cordelia replied, struggling out of the fireside chair. ‘I could do with some exercise and fresh air after being cooped up indoors for so long.’ She picked up her library book and added it to the stack on the dresser. ‘They can go back,’ she said with a wrinkle of her nose. ‘Most of them are complete drivel anyway.’

Peggy bit down on a smile, for she knew Cordelia liked a bit of blood and thunder in her reading, and considered soppy romances a waste of time. She dressed Daisy in her hat, coat and gloves and strapped her into the pram. ‘I’ll get our coats then.’

She returned from the hall and helped Cordelia with her coat, found her gas-mask box, walking stick, handbag and hat, and then put her own coat on. ‘I thought that we’d have a look in the nearby shops to see if there’s anything worth having, and then, once we’ve been to the library, perhaps we might take a bit of a stroll by the sea.’

‘I had one earlier,’ grunted Cordelia as she buttoned up her coat.

‘Had what?’

‘A wee. Really, Peggy, I’m a little too old to be reminded to use the lavatory every five minutes.’

Peggy gave a weary sigh, steadied her as she went down the steps, and then bumped the pram down them and slammed the back door. It was going to be one of those afternoons.

Doreen took her time to stroll back along the seafront and up the hill to Beach View. She needed the opportunity to calm down after that run-in with Doris. Really, she thought, my sister is the most irritating, overbearing, deluded woman I ever met. She simply couldn’t help but lash out, even though she knew she was in the wrong. Well, that’s the last time I try and mend fences, Doreen thought crossly as she plodded up the steep hill. She can stew in her own juice.

She arrived back at Beach View and soon realised she had the house to herself, so she tidied up the kitchen and made a fish paste sandwich and a cup of tea for her lunch. The kitten sat expectantly at her feet as she ate the sandwich, her blue eyes watching every mouthful until Doreen felt so guilty that she put a smidgeon of the paste on her finger and offered it to her.

Queenie gave it a good sniff, then turned her back on both Doreen and the fish paste and went under the table to begin her daily ablutions.

‘Fussy little thing,’ said Doreen fondly. ‘You’re as bad as Evie. She doesn’t like fish paste either – or indeed most things.’ At the thought of her eldest daughter’s picky eating habits, Doreen wondered how on earth she was managing on the ration.

She finished the sandwich, washed the plates that were in the sink and then wondered what to do next. It wasn’t much past two and none of the girls would be back before six. She came to the conclusion that it was the perfect time to sit down and write letters to her daughters and to Archie’s mother. She’d decided on her walk that if the MOD were willing to give her extra leave, then she would take it. Perhaps even use it to travel to Wales to see her girls. With her thoughts on how to arrange a travel permit and ticket, Doreen headed for the stairs so she could fetch her writing pad.

The knock on the door startled her as she was halfway up to her room, but she ran down again quickly and opened the door. Her spirits plummeted instantly when she saw who was standing on the doorstep. ‘Eddie. What are you doing here?’

He took off his brown hat and smiled winningly. ‘Hello, Doreen. I was rather hoping for a warmer welcome, but at least I’ve found you at last.’

Unimpressed, Doreen remained standing in the doorway. ‘What do you want, Eddie?’

‘Now, Doreen,’ he coaxed, running his hand over his thick fair hair. ‘Is that any way to welcome someone who’s been halfway across England trying to find you?’ He took a step towards her, his smile still very bright, but not quite reaching his eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

‘You can say what you’ve come to say right there on the doorstep,’ she said firmly.

He gave a rather dramatic sigh. ‘You don’t make things any easier for me, do you, Doreen?’

‘I don’t see why I should,’ she replied. ‘We’ve been divorced for nearly four years and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since.’

‘Hardly my fault, old thing. There is a war on, you know, and I’ve been very busy.’

Doreen regarded him with little affection, being reminded of what had first attracted her to him when she’d been naive and stupid – and why she’d divorced him. The smile was still the same; the easy-going talk was all too familiar – as was the smell of his cologne – but now she knew from hard-won experience that there was nothing behind the smile, the talk and the nice clothes, and it grated. He clearly wasn’t in any of the forces, so what he’d been busy at for the past four years, she had no idea and didn’t really want to know. It was probably illegal if he was running true to form.

‘Let me in, Doreen,’ he wheedled. ‘I’ve come a long way to find you, and there are things we need to talk about.’

‘What things?’

‘The girls, really.’

Doreen felt a stab of unease. ‘What about the girls?’ she asked sharply.

‘Let me in and I’ll tell you.’ The charming smile slipped and the blue eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to hold this sort of private conversation on the doorstep.’

The unease grew as she reluctantly stood aside to let him in. ‘In here,’ she said, leading the way into the kitchen.

He surveyed the room with undisguised displeasure. ‘Good grief, Doreen. You’ve certainly gone down in the world. What
is
this dump?’

Considering the fact he’d left their home to live in a succession of seedy bedsits, he had a damned cheek to denigrate her family home – which he’d refused to visit during their ill-fated marriage. ‘It suits me just fine,’ she said shortly. ‘How did you find me, anyway?’

‘I tracked you down to Kent and managed to persuade the delightful Mrs Fletcher to give me the address of where you’d gone for your holiday.’ He brushed one of the kitchen chairs with his gloves, much like Doris had done, and then sat down and placed his hat carefully on the table.

Phyllis Fletcher should have kept her mouth shut, she thought furiously. But then Eddie probably put on the charm and the silly woman had fallen for it. Doreen regarded him with loathing, damned if she’d offer him tea or more than five minutes of her time. ‘You said you wanted to talk about the girls, so get on with it, Eddie. I don’t have all afternoon.’

‘I want them to come and live with me,’ he said.

‘Over my dead body,’ she retorted.

‘Yes, well, that could be arranged, but it would be a bit dramatic and messy, don’t you think?’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You look older,’ he said quietly, ‘and tired. Are you not well? Is that why you’re here?’

Doreen bristled, but kept her temper. ‘Don’t change the subject, Eddie. You are not having the girls to live with you, now or ever. They’re happy and settled in Wales, and when this war is over I’ll have enough money to buy a proper home for them.’

‘But I can give them that now,’ he said. ‘You see, I’m getting married again, and Muriel has already got a well-set-up place in Buckinghamshire. The girls will be very safe there, I assure you.’

‘The courts gave me custody. You can’t just go against that.’

‘Oh, but I can, you see. If I’m married and have a settled home, I’m fully entitled to have my children with me on a more permanent basis.’

‘Never,’ she hissed. ‘Never in a million years.’

‘The house is very nice,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s large and rambling, with an acre of land, and positively stuffed with antiques. There’s a good school nearby, and the girls can get to know Muriel’s daughter, so they’ll even have a playmate.’

Doreen could suddenly picture the whole scene. ‘I suppose Muriel is a rich widow?’

His smile widened, showing some expensive dental work on teeth that had once been slightly crooked. ‘She certainly is – and very attractive too for a woman in her forties.’

‘Well, neither of you are going to get your hands on my girls,’ she said flatly. ‘So you’d better go back to Muriel and enjoy your new and very comfortable life.’

‘Ah, well,’ he said as he studied his nails. ‘There’s the rub, you see, Doreen. Muriel has expectations, and I’d hate to disappoint her by returning empty-handed.’

Doreen suddenly knew where this conversation had been heading since the moment it started. This was the Eddie of old – the Eddie who was always after money. She decided to play along with him.

‘What sort of expectations? Most women wouldn’t want to take on someone else’s children unless it was all legal and above board. And I will fight you tooth and nail, Edward Grey, you can be certain of that.’

‘I could make it very difficult for you to do so,’ he said casually. ‘After all, you’re a single woman now in charge of two innocent little girls, and should your reputation become tarnished in any way, then it won’t look good for you in court.’

‘My reputation is not and never will be tarnished,’ she snapped back at him.

He raised his fair eyebrows. ‘Really? But you’ve recently spent a whole week with some sailor in a London hotel, Doreen. I hardly think …’

His words hit her like a thunderbolt. ‘How did you know about that?’ she managed.

‘I hired a private detective and had you followed,’ he returned blithely.

Doreen bunched her fists. ‘How dare you poke and pry into my private business?’

‘Well, it won’t stay private for very long once it gets to court.’

‘You bastard,’ she hissed. ‘You absolute bastard.’

‘Sticks and stones, Doreen. Sticks and stones,’ he said airily. ‘You can swear at me all you like, but that doesn’t alter the fact that you’re an unfit mother who sleeps with sailors.’

Doreen was so furious she couldn’t speak.

‘But there is a way around this dilemma,’ he said quietly.

She regarded him with loathing. ‘What way?’

He suddenly couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘If you give me a hundred pounds, then I’ll forget all about taking the girls, and stay out of your hair.’

The hatred for him was so intense it knotted in her stomach and made her feel sick. ‘So it
was
about money after all,’ she breathed. ‘It always was with you, wasn’t it? It’s the only thing you’ve ever cared about.’

‘Money makes the world go round, Doreen. I just happen to be a bit strapped for cash at the moment, and Muriel is expecting me to close a business deal and bring home the bacon, so to speak.’

‘I haven’t got that sort of money,’ she said flatly.

‘Of course you have. You’re earning well with the MOD, and I wouldn’t mind betting you’ve squirrelled away a tidy sum over the years.’

He knew her too well and she struggled to keep her expression bland. ‘A hundred pounds is a fortune. Of course I don’t have it.’

‘Then you’d better find it before tomorrow.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘I shall go to Wales and see my daughters, and make sure they learn all about what you’ve been up to while they’ve been conveniently sent away. I shall also tell them about Muriel and the house, and my plans to bring them to live with me.’ His smile held no warmth. ‘And you know how much those girls adore me, Doreen. They’ll be putty in my hands.’

She regarded him coldly, noting the familiar signs of desperation she’d got so used to during their disastrous marriage. This had never been about the children. He was in trouble and needed money to get himself out of a tight corner – probably because he was deeply in debt to someone too powerful and mean to defy.

‘I never imagined you could stoop so low as to use your children as a way of blackmailing me,’ she said, keeping a tight rein on the fury that was bubbling very close to the surface. ‘You’re an utterly despicable
rat
.’

Her loathing washed over him like water off a duck’s back. ‘I’ll come back for the money tomorrow morning, eleven sharp,’ he said, picking up his hat and gloves.

‘Not here, you won’t. I’ll meet you outside the Post Office in the High Street.’

He smiled as he put on his hat. ‘I knew you’d see sense in the end,’ he murmured and headed for the hall.

Doreen slammed the front door after him, leaned against it and then let rip with every swear word she knew. Having got that out of her system, she went back into the kitchen, lit a cigarette and tried to figure out how on earth to get that money, and more importantly, how to stop him from using the children to blackmail her again – because he would, and she had to protect them from him at all costs.

Ivy was enjoying her ten-minute tea break, sitting outside the canteen on one of the benches in the afternoon sun and dreaming about Andy. They’d met at every chance they could over the past two weeks, and had had the promised fish supper, gone dancing and been to the pictures, where they’d sat holding hands in the back row. He was a smashing kisser, and she felt quite gooey at the memory. He’d also never tried to take liberties, so she was beginning to trust her instincts that he was a genuinely lovely bloke and she was a very lucky girl.

She sipped her tea and wondered what they’d do tomorrow night when he was off duty. There was a dance at the Town Hall which the Americans were laying on for some of their boys who’d just got back from North Africa, which meant there’d be loads of lovely food and drink and a big band to dance to. She loved doing the jitterbug, and was getting quite good at it, but by the end of the night she was always completely knackered. Still, being that tired meant she slept like a log and didn’t dream.