Elizabeth Elgin - Where Bluebells Chime

‘Julia, for goodness’ sake! Drew is all right and Daisy and Tatty, too.’

‘Y-yes. I suppose so. But how did you know I was thinking about Drew being out?’

‘Of course you were. I know you so well that knowing what you are thinking comes easily.’

‘It does?’ She turned to face him, kissing him gently, her breath soft on his cheek. ‘Then tell me, what am I thinking now?’

‘You are thinking,’ he said huskily, drawing her closer, ‘that you want me to make love to you.’

‘Mm.’ She kissed him again. ‘My darling – how well you know me …’

Yesterday, Mary Strong returned from Creesby in triumph, having found the blue silk cabbage roses with which to trim the wide-brimmed biscuit-coloured hat she was to wear to her wedding.

‘I tell you, Tilda – no silk flowers to be found. I’d just about given up hope when I went down a side street and found them in a poky little shop. Dust all over everything, mind, but there they were, just what I’d been looking for and exactly the same blue as the frock!’

‘Lucky,’ Tilda murmured, glad that in four days Mary would be Mrs Stubbs, and wedding talk a thing of the past.

‘I’ll take them over to Alice to sew on the hat.’ Mary eased on the biscuit-coloured wedding shoes she was breaking in for Saturday, because not for anything was she walking down the aisle at All Souls’ squeaking with every step. ‘Won’t be more’n a couple of minutes. Table’s laid for dinner – you know they want it a bit earlier, tonight?’

On account of Drew going to the dance in Creesby, that was. Daisy was going, too, and the land girl, Mary learned only that morning when she had gone to the kitchen garden with Tilda’s vegetable list. Indeed, it had been the land girl’s idea for Mr Catchpole to make a finger-spray of flowers instead of a posy for her to carry.

‘Pale pink carnations and white gypsophila, that’s what, with a little loop underneath so you can slip it over your middle finger. And a pink carnation, perhaps, for your bridegroom’s buttonhole …?’

Mary had taken at once to the idea though truth known she had never heard of finger-sprays before.

… and the bride, dressed in conflower blue and given away by Mr Thomas Dwerryhouse, carried a finger-spray of pink carnations. It would read very well in the Creesby Advertiser. A nice girl, that Gracie, even if she did go dancing with Sir Andrew and presumed to call him Drew after only six days’ acquaintance.

She sighed, though with pleasure or relief she couldn’t be sure. Relief, she supposed, to be getting wed at last.

Tatiana Sutton looked critically at her reflection in the full-length mirror and was pleased with what she saw. And she would look better still once she was able to put on her lipstick and dab a little of her precious perfume on her wrists. But the finishing touches must wait until later or her mother would become suspicious if she went to Daisy’s house all dressed up. If Mama really knew where she was going she would put on her Grandmother Petrovska face and forbid the Creesby dance, even though Drew and Daisy would be there. Creesby dances were not allowed because, unlike the Holdenby hops, they were frequented by people – men – of unknown pedigree, who could be relied upon to take liberties with young ladies in general and Tatiana Sutton in particular.

The night following the aerodrome dance, Tim Thomson did not phone, and six Whitley bombers and six Wellingtons had thrashed and roared into the sky.

‘Please Lord, please take care of Tim; take care of all of them,’ she whispered, dry-mouthed. Then she turned to the icon above her bed and, crossing herself piously in the Russian Orthodox manner, prayed again to the Virgin and Child, just to make sure. She was relieved, on counting them home next morning, that twelve planes came in to land at Holdenby Moor.

Not long after, the phone rang and she found herself shaking when a voice whispered, ‘Hullo there, hen. Just thought I’d let you know I’m back. Can we meet?’

That was when the drawing-room door opened and she was forced to reply, ‘Daisy! Hi! I think so. When?’

‘The crossroads outside Holdenby,’ Tim had replied, laughter in his voice. ‘Tonight at seven – okay?’

‘Could you make it half-past, Daisy?’

And Tim had said that half-past seven was just fine and that he looked forward to seeing her.

Tatania spent the rest of that day partly on a pale pink cloud and partly in a trough of gloom, worried lest when they met at the crossroads someone should see them, though as it turned out no one did. They had walked the narrow road that led to Holdenby Pike with never a car passing them – thanks be for petrol rationing – and Tim kissed her, which made her cheeks flame and her heart bump deliciously.

That first kiss was kind and gentle, because she hadn’t quite known how to do it and blushingly told him so, though he assured her gravely that she would get much better with practice.

‘Tomorrow night is a bit – well, uncertain ,’ he whispered throatily, kissing the tip of her nose, which Tatiana found thrilling, ‘and I mightn’t be able to phone, but Wednesday should be okay. Shall we say Wednesday – the Creesby dance? Will I call for you?’

‘No, Tim! Oh, no !’

‘But of course, you’ll be going with Daisy,’ he grinned. ‘See you at the dance, then?’

‘Yes, please,’ she breathed, closing her eyes, lifting her face to his. And she parted her lips a little, just to let him know she wanted him to kiss her again.

And their second kiss had been wonderful.

Tatiana was grateful that on the morning of the Creesby dance, Grandfather Sutton made a final check of the locks of the rooms in which he had been allowed to store his furniture, then handed over two complete sets of keys to the army major waiting to take possession of Pendenys Place. That a third set of keys was still in Edward Sutton’s pocket was of little consequence, he having neither the need nor the desire ever to use them. But having them meant he had not quite given up Pendenys, though why the thought should please him he had no idea.

He had readily agreed to the military commandeering the house he had lived in all his married life, his only regret being that if there really was a hereafter, then Clemmy would be reading his thoughts and sending down her wrath against him for not putting up more of a fight of it, for Pendenys had been his wife’s pride and joy.

And on the Wednesday of the Creesby dance, Tatiana’s mother was so occupied with making sure Grandfather Sutton was welcomed and made comfortable that she had even agreed to her daughter staying late at Daisy’s house, provided she was seen safely home by eleven o’clock.

Drew and Daisy were waiting at Keeper’s Cottage when, breathless from pedalling, Tatiana propped her cycle against one of the dog houses, apologizing for being late and begging them never, ever, to tell anyone about the Creesby dance.

‘I won’t tell Aunt Anna on you,’ Drew admonished, ‘but just let’s hope, Tatty, that she doesn’t mention it to me so I don’t have to tell any lies.’

‘She won’t. She’s going to be far too busy fussing over Grandfather ever to bother. And I’m sorry I involved you in it, Daisy,’ she said contritely, as they walked to the bothy to pick up Gracie, ‘but I’ll die if I don’t see Tim again.’

‘Tatty! You haven’t fallen for him?’ Daisy demanded. ‘For heaven’s sake, you hardly know him!’

‘I do, so! I’ve known him four days and that’s time enough. Besides,’ she added defiantly, ‘I met him on Tuesday as well. We went to the top of Holdenby Pike and –’