Lorna Gray - The War Widow

Mary draped her coat over the back of the chair opposite, dropped like a bomb into its seat and stole a sip of my water while the bright whirlwind slowly settled into the standard garish print of her day dress. Modern frocks were frequently rather garish. The cynic in me suspected that it was a deliberate tactic – probably engineered by a committee somewhere – founded on the principle that we women might not notice the shortages and hardships of our daily lives if we were sheathed in bright things.

If that was their aim, it hadn’t worked for this woman. I had thought before that she was testing the peace for its tedium and now I saw she was actively working to break it at any cost. She was made up again today with rather too much drama about the eyes that outdid the customary flash of crimson upon her lips. Her frock was narrow-waisted but whereas the extreme restrictions of a girdle made her sister look angular and severe, Mary only looked impressively fashionable. I didn’t think the cost of my lunch would have meant much to her. She observed cheerfully, “It smells of cabbage in here. Are you having a nice day?”

She must have noticed my rather blank expression because she gave me an astonishingly genuine smile. She leaned in to rest her chin upon a hand and said in a confidential whisper that was anything but discreet, “I’ve been abandoned by my sister. Dear Aged Albert has decided he feels unwell. Oh no, nothing serious, don’t worry.” There was a waft of her hand in response to my automatic shift from bewilderment towards polite concern. “Being a doctor he is well versed in a variety of complaints that aren’t awful enough to mean he shouldn’t take his usual luncheon but still absolutely require his wife to tend him lovingly. It just means that our planned adventure has had to be postponed yet again so I’m at a loose end – and sulking like a five year old.”

I began to feel a stuffy prude. There was something truly disarming in this assault – there is no better word for it – by her determined good humour. I’d seen it at work on the men at the hotel and scorned their weakness then. But now I couldn’t help asking amiably, “Does your loose end happen to extend to having lunch? I’m just having mine. There’s some tea left in the pot if you can get a fresh cup.”

In many ways she was a very clever woman.

Mary shook her head. “I’ve already eaten, thank you. I couldn’t face waiting any longer. What are you going to do now? Do you fancy being my chaperone for the day? I fully intend to drop you as soon as my sister is free but if you don’t mind I’d love to borrow you for a while. We could catch the bus to Ynyslas.”

I thawed and only then did it occur to me to wonder if she was somehow a rogue sent to winkle me out of my hiding place. But she didn’t leave much room for scepticism because she was already hurrying me into finishing my tea and in truth, I wasn’t particularly hard to persuade. That fatalistic part of my brain that wanted to end this hadn’t faded away with the brief rest in this tearoom. The defiance had revived a touch but that was all. If they had found me, this was it. If Jim really was part of this, I had no hope of evading anyone if they chose to come and get me. And if he wasn’t, I didn’t want to pin my hopes on being able to hide away in my room till the next day, attempting to turn the hotel into a garrison with the other guests cast as my guards; achieving nothing and doing nothing until the time came to face the race across town to my meeting with the inspector at the police station tomorrow. That was the kind of waiting game that felt it must leave scars on the mind.

So I paid my bill and climbed to my feet with absolutely no expectation other than that I would soon know precisely what part she meant to play if I followed her.

That being said, the first step outside was taken a little less recklessly. Regardless of my decision I couldn’t help glancing behind as we stepped out on to the pavement but if Jim Bristol was there, I didn’t see him. I didn’t see those two men either. Their car was still waiting serenely beneath the university building. I was just checking the darkened telephone booth and deciding that it was likewise definitely empty when the woman beside me suddenly let out a wild shriek and leapt into the road. Quite understandably, it was a moment or two before I realised the rapidly approaching car was a red Rover 10 and her scream was a cry of delight.

It was delight though, and now Mary was laughing like a maniac. She was standing there in the middle of the road, striking a pose of careless elegance as she turned back to me, eyes bright and absolutely determined to defy the box-like nose of the car that squealed to a stop, quivering, barely inches from her knees.

“Are you insane?” Adam didn’t sound remotely amused. I suppose it was Mary’s way of proving the cost of following her sister’s orders to ensnare her man; it was just unfortunate for her that her sister wasn’t watching to learn the lesson and we were. I watched Mary sashay around to the driver’s door and found myself alternating between fascination that anyone could really act like that and make it seem such a natural part of herself, and watching the road for any of the men who might be after me. There was also a part of me – the wiser part – that was adding Adam to the list and contemplating scuttling off while he and Mary were distracted. In the road, Mary had come to a rest with her hand laid artlessly along the top of the driver’s door. Her coat was trailing from her other hand onto the grimy tarmacadam.

“Yes, I’ve gone mad,” she admitted firmly. She’d noticed the coat’s plight and draped it carelessly about her shoulders with about the same elegance as a millionaire with a fox fur. “As I’ve been telling everyone who’ll listen, I’m at a loose end and acting like a five year old.”

“Most five year olds that I’ve met have learned a little road sense.”

Mary was unsquashable. But she did at least moderate her voice so that it was a glimpse of her real self. It had the bizarre effect of making her whole appearance – clothes, make-up and all – seem like borrowed plumage applied under the strict supervision of another. “Where are you going? You promised to take me with you.”

I saw him suppress a smile as he shifted the car out of gear. “A castle.”

“I love castles.” The idea that her charm was a front was gone again. She chose to be this way too. A finger ran along the top of the doorframe and I swear she actually simpered.

Adam only raised an eyebrow. Mary laughed. “All right, I don’t like castles; they’re boring. I was going to catch a bus to the beach but it’s hardly the time of year for it and perhaps you’d let me come with you instead? It’d be so nice to actually go somewhere, even if it is a castle. Please? We’ll be quiet, I promise; won’t we Katie?”

I baulked at this sudden inclusion. Now I really did wish I’d taken the opportunity to slip away. She jerked her head and beckoned me closer to add weight to her plea but I gave a quick silent negative and remained where she had left me, hovering foolishly on the edge of the pavement. His gaze followed hers to fix on me for the first time and as a respite from the usual terrors, the embarrassment was excruciating.

I made it worse by saying; “If he’s got things to do, I’m sure he’d much rather be on his own.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh, ignore her; she just doesn’t want to admit that she’d much prefer your castle to my beach. And she’s got to come. She’s playing the part of the maiden aunt to my youthful heroine. Please?”

Adam’s resigned sigh was carried on the light breeze. With a triumphant smirk at me, Mary darted round to the passenger door and slid in. She fixed me with an expectant stare but Adam was already climbing out and dragging open the rear passenger door for me. He gave a brief jerk of his head. “Come on,” he said with that slight smile of his that might have been teasing, or it might not.