Kate Morton - The Distant Hours

‘You did very well with your custard. It’s lovely and thick, even without the milk.’ Lucy was peeping beneath the saucepan lid.

‘Oh, Lucy, you’re a darling. I made it with water in the end, a little honey as sweetener so I could save my sugar for marmalade. I never thought I’d thank the war for anything, but I wonder that I might have lived my entire life without knowing the satisfaction of creating the perfect milk-less custard!’

‘There’s many in London would be grateful for the recipe. My cousin writes that they’re down to two pints each a week. Can you imagine? You ought to jot down the steps to your custard in a letter and send it to the Daily Telegraph . They publish them, you know.’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Saffy thoughtfully. It would be another publication to add to her little collection. Not a particularly salubrious addition, but a clipping nonetheless. It would all help when the time came to send off her manuscript, and who knew what else might come of it? Saffy quite liked the idea of a regular little column, ‘Sew-a-lot Saffy’s Advice to Ladies’ or some such, a small illustrated emblem in the corner – her Singer 201K, or even one of her hens! She smiled, as pleased and amused by the fantasy as if it were a fait accompli.

Lucy, meanwhile, was still talking about her cousin in Pimlico and the single egg they were allowed each fortnight. ‘Hers was rotten the other week, and can you imagine? – they wouldn’t replace it for her.’

‘But that’s just mean spirited!’ Saffy was aghast. Sew-a-lot Saffy, she suspected, would have much to say on such matters and wouldn’t be afraid to make magnanimous gestures of her own as recompense. ‘Why, you must send her some of mine. And take half a dozen for yourself.’

Lucy’s expression could not have been more delighted had Saffy begun handing out lumps of solid gold, and Saffy felt embarrassed suddenly, forcing the spectre of her newspaper doppelganger to dissolve. It was with an air of apology that she said, ‘We’ve more eggs than we can eat, and I’ve been looking for a way to show you my gratitude – you’ve come to my aid so often since the war began.’

‘Oh, Miss Saffy.’

‘Let’s not forget I’d still be laundering in caster sugar if it weren’t for you.’

Lucy laughed and said, ‘Well, thank you kindly. I accept your offer most gratefully.’

They started wrapping the eggs together, tearing small squares from the salvaged newspapers stacked by the stove, and Saffy thought for the hundredth time that day how much she enjoyed their former housekeeper’s company and how unfortunate it was that they’d lost her. When she moved into the flatlet, Saffy decided, Lucy should be given the address and encouraged to call for tea whenever she came up to London. Percy would no doubt have something to say about that – she had rather traditional ideas about the classes and their intermingling – but Saffy knew better: companions were to be valued, wherever one found them.

A grumble of thunder menaced from outside and Lucy ducked her head to spy through the grimy windowpane above the small sink. She took in the darkening sky and frowned. ‘If there’s nothing else, Miss Saffy, I’ll finish up in the parlour and be on my way. The weather looks like settling in and I’ve a meeting to attend this evening.’

‘WVS is it?’

‘Canteen tonight. Got to keep those brave soldiers fed.’

‘That we do,’ Saffy said. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve stitched some children’s dollies for your fund-raising auction. Take them tonight if you’re able: they’re upstairs, as is – ’ a pause for theatrical effect – ‘the Dress.’

Lucy gasped and her voice dropped to a whisper, even though they were alone. ‘You finished it!’

‘Just in time for Juniper to wear tonight. I’ve hung it in the attic so it’s the first thing she sees.’

‘Then I shall certainly pop upstairs before I go. Tell me – is it beautiful?’

‘It’s divine.’

‘I’m so pleased.’ A moment’s hesitation and Lucy reached out to take Saffy’s hands lightly in her own. ‘Everything’s going to be perfect, you see if it isn’t. Such a special night, having Miss Juniper back from London at last.’

‘I just hope the weather doesn’t hold up the trains too long.’

Lucy smiled. ‘You’ll be relieved to have her home safe and sound.’

‘I haven’t slept a single night through since she’s been away.’

‘The worry.’ Lucy shook her head sympathetically. ‘You’ve been a mother to her, and a mother never sleeps easy when she’s worried for her babe.’

‘Oh, Lucy – ’ Saffy’s eyes glazed – ‘I have been worried. So worried. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for months.’

‘There haven’t been any episodes, though, have there?’

‘Mercifully not, and I’m sure she would have told us if there had. Even Juniper wouldn’t be untruthful about something so serious-’

The door blasted open and they each straightened as sharply as the other. Lucy squealed and Saffy almost did, remembering this time to swipe the tin and hide it behind her back. It was only the wind picking up outside, but the interruption was sufficient to sweep away the pleasant atmosphere inside and take Lucy’s smile with it. And then Saffy knew what it was that had Lucy on tenterhooks.

She considered saying nothing, the day was almost over and sometimes least said really was soonest mended, but the afternoon had been so companionable, the two of them working side by side in the kitchen and in the parlour, and Saffy was eager to set things to rights. She was allowed to have friends – she needed to have friends – no matter what Percy felt. She cleared her throat gently. ‘How old were you when you started here, Lucy?’

The answer came quietly, almost as if she’d expected it: ‘Sixteen.’

‘Twenty-two years ago, was it?’

‘Twenty-four. It was 1917.’

‘You were always one of Father’s favourites, you know.’

Within the oven, the pie filling had begun to simmer inside its pastry casing. The former housekeeper’s back straightened and then she sighed, slowly and deliberately. ‘He was good to me.’

‘And you must know that Percy and I are both very fond of you.’

With the eggs all bundled, Lucy could find no further occupation at the far bench. She crossed her arms and spoke softly. ‘It’s kind of you to say, Miss Saffy, and unnecessary.’

‘Only that if you ever changed your mind, when things are more settled, if you decided you’d like to come back in a more official-’

‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘No. Thank you.’

‘I’ve made you uncomfortable,’ Saffy started. ‘Forgive me, Lucy dear. I wouldn’t have said a word, only I don’t like to think of you misunderstanding. Percy doesn’t mean anything by it, you see. It’s just her way.’

‘Really, there’s no need-’

‘She doesn’t like change. She never has. She almost died pining when she was sent away to hospital with scarlet fever as a girl.’ Saffy made a weak attempt to lighten the mood: ‘I sometimes think she’d be happy for we three sisters to remain together here at Milderhurst forever. Can you imagine? All of us old ladies with hair so long and white we could sit on it?’

‘I should think Miss Juniper would have something to say about that.’

‘Quite.’ As would Saffy herself. She had a sudden urge to tell Lucy all about the flatlet in London, the desk beneath the window, the wireless on the shelf, but she suppressed it. This wasn’t the time. Instead, she said, ‘Anyway, we were both sorry to see you leave us after so many years.’

‘It was the war, Miss Saffy, I needed to be doing something to help, then with Mother passing as she did and Harry-’