“What I’ll do,” she said, “is stand outside that theater and look up at her name and say, ‘I used to know her at that Ministry.’”
She smiled at Florette blissfully, who said: “Get away with you! I’ll have you back stage and you shall have free tickets for the orchestra stalls. Who knows, I might even introduce you to someone who is looking for a pet.”
This was a well-worn joke, I realized. Peggy had once said she had watched the dogs in the park, and all the fuss that was made of them—little pekes with fancy haircuts, diamond collars—and she had thought, “What a good time these dogs have … nothing to do but be a pet. I wouldn’t mind being a dog like that. I wish somebody would make a pet of me. Do you know anyone looking for a pet?”
That had amused Florette and it had become a joke.
“Peggy’s looking for someone who wants a pet,” she said to me. “Do you know anyone?”
And everyone, including Peggy, laughed hilariously.
Peggy and Florette were easy to understand. It was not the same with Marian. She did not come from the same background as the others. She had made it clear to me from the start that she, Mary Grace, and I were of a kind—and apart from the other two. Marian’s hair was probably touched up, but discreetly so; she wore tailored suits and spoke with the utmost care.
She told me that her husband had been an army man; she had been a widow for fifteen years. She managed, but things were not as those she had been accustomed to. She had a small flat in Crouch Hill and had had to adjust her standards.
I saw at once that there was something rather secretive about her; she was faintly uneasy. I felt sure she was harboring some secret.
When we emerged from the teashop, regaled by the mysterious but tasty Home Pie and two cups of hot coffee, I realized that I had been completely taken out of the doldrums and been absorbingly entertained. This happened to me very rarely.
Mary Grace and I said goodbye to the others, who had to return to the Ministry as they were “full-timers”; Mary Grace and I went to the tube and back to Kensington.
“Well?” said Mary Grace when we were alone.
“Very interesting. Amusing, some of it.”
“I like them all very much. They were strangers to me a little while ago and I see them every day now—far more than I see my close friends. One really gets to know people well in such circumstances.”
“Florette is amusing,” I said. “Poor girl, I wonder how far her dream will take her. And Peggy … well, one should be sorry for her. She must have had a hard life, and yet she is not really in the least downcast. As for Marian, she is something of an enigma.”
“Oh, poor Marian. Seen better days. I am always sorry for such people. They spend so much time regretting the past that they cannot enjoy the present. If only she could stop worrying whether we can see the difference between her and the others. They don’t mind being as they are … nor does anyone else.”
“Well, thank you, Mary Grace. It really was a most interesting lunch.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the Home Pie.”
“Enormously—but most of all the company.”
When we returned to Caddington, my mother wanted to hear about everything that had happened.
“There is no doubt in my mind that the holiday did you the world of good,” she commented.
When I considered it I supposed she was right. I did feel more remote from Cornwall where the constant murmur of the waves and all the surrounding country reminded me of Jowan. And the days were passing. What hope could there be of news?
Both Dorabella and I were helping our mother with the work she was doing with the Red Cross; but working at the convalescent home was different—a definite occupation, which every able-bodied person should have in wartime.
I supposed I should have to go back there.
When I suggested this, Dorabella protested. Mrs. Canter and Mrs. Pardell were doing our work very satisfactorily. She did not want to go back, of course, but we could not stay away indefinitely. She could not plead immunity because Nanny Crabtree was looking after her child. Moreover, Captain Brent had suggested that she might work in one of the offices connected with his unit. It would be a part-time job, not very significant office work, but she would have to be in London, though she might get down to Caddington for weekends.
“And what of Violetta?” asked my mother.
“Perhaps Mary Grace could suggest something,” I said. “I gather her job is to find suitable places for people to work.”
I spoke half-jocularly. I realized I did not want to go back to Cornwall. They were right when they had said it was better for me to get away. I supposed I could stay at Caddington and help my mother, but I did feel I should be doing something more.
We were in this state of uncertainty when Mary Grace came down to Caddington for the weekend. We talked about it and she immediately said that she was sure it would be possible for her to get me into the Ministry.
“I know they are short of staff in my department,” she added.
I had a sudden picture of sitting at a table, filing papers with those I had met at lunch. I thought of going to the restaurant with them for lunch—Home Pie, coffee, and talk, and my dear Mary Grace would be there. I felt a tremor of pleasure at the thought.
Mary Grace noticed my interest and went on: “I could try … if you’d like me to.”
We talked and my mother, sensing a certain enthusiasm in me, came down in favor of the idea.
“I’ll make enquiries,” said Mary Grace. “It would be wonderful to have you there.”
It was not until the New Year that I joined the Ministry. I had spent the intervening time between London, with Gretchen, and my parents at Caddington.
Dorabella had a part-time job in London which pleased her very well. Most weekends we spent at Caddington and we were with Tristan for a great deal of that time. It seemed a very satisfactory arrangement and Dorabella was very happy with life.
Richard Dorrington and I met fairly frequently—whenever he could get away—and I found our encounters very pleasant. He seemed quite content to let our friendship drift along. It was different from the way he had been when he was courting me with marriage in view. He was more restrained and never referred to the past or suggested a resumption of our previous relationship. Indeed, there were times when I thought he was on the point of sharing some confidence. This undemanding friendship suited me perfectly.
As we came into that year of 1944 there was an air of hope throughout the country. Germany was losing the war on the Russian front; we heard stories of the hardship their armies were facing, not only from the Russians but from the weather, which was more severe than any they had been prepared for. For the first time since he had made his bid for power, it really seemed as though defeat would be Hitler’s reward.
The chance of an invasion of Britain seemed remote. There were still raids from the air and some of our cities had been severely devastated, but hope was everywhere. The Americans were now our allies and we no longer stood alone.