Питер Ловси - On the Edge

Smiling serenely in the September sun, Rose Bell strolled along Regent Street. Mentally she was miles away, having her husband neutered like the cat. So she ignored the woman who rushed out of Swan & Edgar’s making a beeline for the kerb to hail a taxi.

The woman stopped suddenly and spun around. ‘Hey, when did they let you out?’

Rose blinked. She registered that the woman was blonde and about her own age. A mink coat was slung casually over her shoulders. It was in beautiful condition, practically screaming out to be touched. Their eyes locked.

Rose thought, I know her, but who is she?

Penetrating eyes. Intense green. Jungle green.

Antonia Ashton.

Ack-Ack.

The service nickname struck an odd note in peacetime 1946, but those eyes were unmistakable. In Fighter Command they’d started more scrambles than the siren.

‘I can’t believe it!’

Antonia came right up to her and grasped her arm.

‘We’ve got to sit down and talk, darling. We can’t just pass each other in the street.’

The first place they could find was the Black and White Milk Bar in Coventry Street. They perched on high stools under the strip lighting.

‘It must be five years, at least.’

‘Six.’

‘Kettlesham Heath.’

‘We were all completely mad.’

‘We had to be.’

Antonia snapped open a gold cigarette case.

‘Forgive me, darling, I spotted you straight away, but your name escapes me.’

‘Rose.’

‘Of course! Rose — don’t tell me — Mason.’

‘Not any longer.’

As Rose reached for the cigarette, Antonia leaned forward, fixed those disturbing eyes on her and lightly ran her finger down the back of her hand towards the wedding ring. ‘Was it the man... or the money... or both?’

‘Still smoking Abdullahs, then?’

‘That’s dodging the question.’

‘Do you have a light?’

‘Of course.’ Antonia’s eyes strayed to an army officer walking past the window. ‘Kids?’

‘No.’

‘Nor me, touch wood. They’re a tie, aren’t they?’ She produced a gold lighter and held the flame to each cigarette. ‘God, this street has lost its charm. You couldn’t move for GIs a year ago.’

Rose took a deep draught of smoke and immediately exhaled.

‘In a hurry?’

‘No, no.’

‘Where were you going?’

‘I heard there was a queue at Lilley & Skinner’s. It was a mile long.’

‘What were they like?’

‘The shoes? Quite dinky. Platforms with ankle-straps. I couldn’t have afforded them anyway.’

‘With legs like yours you should have heels three inches high.’

‘These?’ Rose straightened them and looked. ‘You always said potty things, Antonia, but you’re a tonic.’

‘They were the talk of 651 Squadron, and you know it.’

‘Get away, if I’d known that, I’d have really larked around.’

‘You?’

Antonia’s eyes shone with amusement. Creases appeared at the ends of her mouth.

It was infectious. Rose started to giggle. She had to hold on to the counter to steady herself.

When two women laugh together, really laugh, nothing else matters. The rest of the world was switched off like the wireless.

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. You were no angel.’

‘My contribution to the war effort.’

This started them off again. They took ages to subside and then Antonia made the effort to string together some intelligible words.

‘Gorgeous men. I’d love to know what happened to them — the ones who came back, I mean. Rex Ballard, Johnny Dalton-Smith...’

‘He was nice.’

‘... and that Wing Commander who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. What was his name, for heaven’s sake? You remember. What a wolf! Wicked black moustache and so much brilliantine it made your eyes water. Barry someone.’

‘Bell.’

‘Yes! Barry Bell. Run like hell, it’s Barry Bell — remember?’

‘I remember.’

‘God knows how he ended up.’

‘Married to me.’

Antonia stared.

‘Darling, are you serious? You are.’

Rose nodded. ‘After the Battle of Britain I was posted to Hornchurch. They wanted someone who could drive.’

‘It’s coming back to me. Didn’t we give you a rather special send-off? It was you, wasn’t it, when we all got drunk as skunks and tied your bed to the CO’s staff car?’

‘And didn’t even tell me, rotten lot.’

‘You were out to the world, sweetie. Go on, what happened at Hornchurch?’

‘When I reported to the adjutant, who do you think was the first fellow I met?’

‘No — really?’

‘If you remember, I was about the only girl he ignored at Kettlesham Heath apart from Peggy the fat one in the NAAFI, but he said there was a reason. He said he’d been dying to ask me out and couldn’t bring himself to the point.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he was worried sick that I’d refuse.’

Antonia’s eyes grew improbably wide. ‘Barry?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘He worshipped you from afar? Barry? I don’t mean to be personal, sweetie, but—’

‘I know. I fell for it. The blue eyes, the Charles Boyer voice, the uniform, the DFC, the letter he left behind in case he was shot down. I suppose you had one, too.’

‘At least you got him to the altar, which is more than the rest of us managed. How did you pull it off, or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘By holding out. I just said no.’

‘Well done!’

‘We were married during the Blitz. December, 1940. Me in parachute silk and Barry in full dress uniform complete with white gloves and sword. The next afternoon he was in a dogfight over the Channel. The funny thing is, I didn’t mind. I thought it was the height of glamour being married to a fighter pilot. Well, it was. I adored it.’

‘Weren’t you afraid?’

‘Of what? A telephone call? Of course, but that’s something the plucky little woman had to accept in wartime, didn’t she?’

Antonia put her hand to her mouth.

‘He wasn’t...?’

‘Killed in action? No. Not Barry. He came through without a scratch.’

‘And you’re still happily married?’

‘Still married.’

Antonia inhaled on her cigarette and gave Rose a long speculative look.

‘He was demobbed last February.’

‘And?’

‘He’s in the civil service. The Stationery Office. A distribution officer. Sounds impressive, but he’s only a clerk in reality.’

‘I can’t picture Barry as a civil servant.’

‘It is quite a transformation. You should see him go off each day with his bowler hat and briefcase.’

‘He was such an outgoing chap.’

‘You mean no girl was safe with him. He hasn’t altered in that respect.’

‘It hasn’t worked out?’

‘It’s a mess.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. Will you...?’

‘Divorce him? I couldn’t face a divorce at the moment. It would break Daddy’s heart.’ ‘But it’s your life.’

‘Daddy married us in his own church, heard the vows, gave us the blessing.’

Antonia pointed a finger. ‘Your pa was a vicar. I remember now!’

Rose had started talking about herself to show she was friendly and now all this had gushed out. It was embarrassing. She needed to broaden the conversation. ‘I sometimes wish the war had never ended, don’t you?’

‘We’re no better off, if that’s what you mean.’

Rose ran her eyes over the mink. ‘Aren’t we?’

Antonia dismissed that with a shrug. ‘I mean the bloody shortages. What happened to domestic servants? You can’t get one for love nor money.’