Shipyard Girls at War, page 22
He could not quite believe a man of his maturity was obsessing so much about this woman. This very-much-younger-than-him woman. It wasn’t as if he was mooning about, clicking his heels, with nothing much to do. Far from it. He had not had a minute to spare due to the unrelenting number of air raids the town had been subjected to over this past month alone, and the loss of life and carnage the bombings had brought about. The Luftwaffe was meant to be top notch, but so far they had not once hit their intended targets, but had only managed to kill the innocent and demolish people’s homes.
DS Miller had been dogged in his determination to be a part of the war effort; it had frustrated him no end that he had been too young to join up in the last war, having just turned eighteen during the final weeks of the conflict, and now, twenty-three years later, he was very nearly too old at forty-one. His occupation as a police officer ruled him out of military service anyway, but had he had youth on his side, he would have joined up regardless.
All this had propelled him to work just about every spare minute for the town’s civil defence unit. Now the few hours’ free time he snatched – when he wasn’t either working or swapping his trilby for a warden’s helmet – was spent with the woman walking next to him; the woman who had brought light into his life – although he was sure she had absolutely no idea just how much she had illuminated his world.
‘The usual?’ Vera, the old woman who owned the shop called out when she saw her two regulars walk through the glass-panelled door of the café. She kept back a smile, as she enjoyed her notoriety as being a hard, no-nonsense east ender who took no lip from anyone. She had had to be like that as a young woman, serving the rowdy, horny young lads who would pop in for a cuppa or a bacon bap on their way to work – or after they had finished for the day and wanted to take a sandwich or pie to the pub to eat with their pint. The mould she had created for herself had been set early on, and it was now impossible to break, even if she felt like doing so sometimes.
‘Yes, please, Vera!’ Rosie trilled over to the old woman, who banged the large copper kettle back on to her gas stove to boil up, then jangled cups and saucers and teaspoons on to an old and battered tin tray.
‘I’ve only got a few flapjacks left today, hinny,’ she shouted over as she lifted the glass dome from the cake stand on which her last two remaining oatmeal biscuits were languishing.
‘Perfect.’ Rosie smiled back, not expecting a smile in return, but knowing the old woman liked them, particularly as DS Miller always left a decent tip – just like he always paid. When they’d first started having tea together, Rosie had insisted on taking her turn to pay, but each time she had been beaten down with a look of incredulity from DS Miller, who seemed unable to believe she had even suggested it. Rosie now no longer offered, but very occasionally brought him a few kippers she got from the docks as a way of returning the favour.
‘So, tell me more about Gloria – poor woman. Is she all right?’ Rosie had just been telling the detective about what had happened to Gloria. He had been horrified to hear what had occurred the other night, and even more so that it had been happening most of her married life. Not that it surprised him. But it didn’t stop him feeling outrage and disgust at what his fellow man could do; what a husband could do to his wife – and, more so, one who was pregnant.
Rosie looked at DS Miller, who she felt was her friend, even though there was no denying there was more to their liaisons than either of them seemed able to admit. Which was just as well. Rosie did not want them to admit anything. Did not want this to go any further than tea, cake and conversation. No. That was a lie. She did want it to go further. But she knew that could never happen. She knew she was already playing a dangerous game. Knew she couldn’t ever have any kind of serious relationship with the detective. But even though she knew that, she still couldn’t bring herself to stop seeing him. She knew the arguments she had had with herself that they were just friends – that there was no harm in it, and that their meetings were innocent – were flimsy at best; but this man’s draw was strong. Too great for her to fight at the moment.
And although her feelings for her detective were far from chaste, she really did enjoy their conversations; they got on so well, which was surprising as Rosie was very much a ‘woman’s woman’ and had never really sought out men’s company, or particularly enjoyed being with a man for that matter. She was aware that her view on life was off-kilter because of what she had been through early on in her life, coupled with her work at Lily’s, but that was just the way it was.
Rosie would never have normally disclosed Gloria’s situation to anyone outside her squad – apart from Lily and George, of course, but they inhabited another world and would never use or abuse that information, or utter a word to another soul about anything Rosie told them in confidence – so Rosie didn’t quite know why she was confiding in DS Miller. It was just that her instinct told her she could, and that, in some way, it might help her find a solution to the problem.
‘Would she not consider reporting the attack to the police?’ DS Miller asked but, even as he posed the question, he knew the answer before Rosie spoke. He had seen this happen too many times. And, if he were being totally honest with himself, if he himself was a woman who had been attacked and beaten by her husband, he doubted very much whether he would seek help from the police. Or expect any kind of justice, for that matter. It would have been a different scenario had it been a random attack, and had that attack been committed by a stranger. But this was between a man and his wife, albeit an estranged man and wife, and as such the law seemed to be happy to ignore any kind of wrongdoing that occurred between a married couple – providing, of course, they didn’t kill each other.
‘I’ve suggested that to her, Peter,’ Rosie said, ‘but she won’t. She doesn’t think there’s a lot the police can do, or would do, which I’m inclined to agree with.’
DS Miller nodded, showing he understood, but not quite wanting to go as far as verbally agreeing that both women were probably right. He was passionate about his job. Had been driven by a need for justice for as long as he could remember, had always known from being a youngster that he wanted to be involved in some kind of law enforcement; so it pained him to admit that the police and the British justice system were far from proactive about certain breaches of the law.
And it was these gaps in applying the law in certain cases that had bothered him all his working life, and had become a real concern as he had grown older, and which had particularly contributed to the changes he had decided to make in his life after his wife had died.
After his beloved Sal had gone, something inside him had switched, and he had started to think that sticking to the rules wasn’t always the right thing to do – and that sometimes the scales of justice needed a little help to achieve their balance.
As an employee of the Sunderland Borough Police, he had felt compelled not only to make sure the letter of the law was upheld, but that the spirit of the law was also adhered to; as a result, this often meant that society’s bad apples, those who hurt or abused others, got their come-uppance – even if that meant he had to occasionally take matters into his own hands.
‘Is there anything you think I could do?’ He looked Rosie straight in the eyes, showing her he meant every word, and would do whatever she wanted him to.
‘Oh, no, Peter!’ Rosie was taken aback. No one had ever helped her before – apart from her women. Certainly not a man. But, as she voiced her dissent, there was a part of her that wanted to say: Yes, please! And she had to ask herself if, deep down, she really did want Peter to help. To sort Vinnie out.
Was that why she had mentioned Gloria’s situation to him in the first place?
DS Miller looked at Rosie, as if trying hard to read her thoughts.
‘It’s just good to get it off my chest, Peter,’ she said, before changing the subject.
As their chatter turned to the recent developments in the war – the surrender of Yugoslavia and Greece to the Nazis, and the pro-Axis regime in Iraq – DS Miller’s mind kept being tugged back to Gloria and what this poor woman would do next time her vicious ex came knocking on her door, and he knew he would not be able to let it lie. He simply would not be able to ignore what Rosie had told him and do nothing. And, much as he had the greatest respect for Rosie and the kind of strong and determined woman she was, he thought it unlikely that either she or Gloria could remedy the situation themselves.
People like this Vinnie would not take any notice of a woman. Of any woman. He knew the type, and they made his blood boil. He just had to think about the best way he could deal with this pathetic excuse of a man, who had been getting away with being a nasty, vindictive, violent bully for too long.
As he watched Rosie finish off her flapjack with relish before getting ready to leave, he resolved to go and see a few of his old mates stationed up at the police headquarters in town and find out a little more about this Vinnie.
‘See you soon, Vera,’ DS Miller said his goodbyes as he and Rosie left the café.
‘Aye, ta-ra,’ the old woman said. She would have given anything to have known what the deal was between those two. An odd pair, if ever there was one. She couldn’t work out if they were work colleagues, old friends, or a courting couple.
If they were stepping out together, there was a big age gap between the two, but she knew enough to know that the young blonde woman with the scarred face was probably not the type to go with a young, eligible young man from around the doors. She had something about her, that one did. But Vera couldn’t quite work it out.
She scolded herself. She should keep her nebby nose out of other people’s business. Still it was hard not to wonder …
As they stood outside the café and Rosie buttoned her coat up, DS Miller cleared his throat a little nervously. ‘Would it be rude of me to ask to walk you back to your digs?’ he asked, sounding very official.
He was clearly tense about asking the question he had wanted to ask Rosie every time they had met up. ‘It’s just that it’s such a lovely day … or, should I say, such a lovely early evening.’ He was beginning to waffle now, as was his wont when he was nervous.
Rosie knew she should say ‘no’, that she was fine making her own way home, that it would be overstepping the friendship mark for him to escort her home and for him to find out where she lived; but even though her brain was telling her to say a firm but polite ‘no thank you’, she heard her voice telling the detective. ‘Why not? You’re right. It is a lovely evening.’
As they started walking up High Street East, Rosie could feel they were walking very closely to one another, but she didn’t move away or do anything to increase the gap between them.
When their arms touched momentarily, she still didn’t step aside to give them more space. And then, at the top of the road, just before it turned into Villiers Street, when she felt the soft touch of DS Miller as he tentatively, and ever so gently, took hold of her hand in his, she did not pull away.
And so, they walked like this, hands clasped together, fingers entwined, for the remaining quarter of a mile to Rosie’s flat on the Borough Road.
Such a trip would have normally taken minutes, but it took twice as long for DS Miller and Rosie to make their way there, as their pace was slow and their chatter easy. Rosie only let go of the detective’s hand when they reached the top of the stone steps leading down to the front door of her basement flat and they said their formal goodbyes.
Walking back to his own living quarters in Holmeside, DS Miller felt as if he was walking on air. The energy he had felt course through his body had been almost unbearable, and he wondered if Rosie had felt the same.
Should he take this as a sign that she might agree to a formal date? Could he hope that she would want to court him properly?
DS Miller’s step quickened with excitement. He felt indestructible. Tonight, when he was out patrolling the streets as part of his ARP duties, if a bomb dropped on him he honestly felt it would bounce straight off again.
Nothing could quash his feelings of elation and joy, and – dare he say it – his feeling of love.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘So, have you been enjoying any more rendezvous with your detective sergeant amour?’ Lily gently tested Rosie, her French accent now in full flow as she had been wearing her ‘Madame Lily’ hat and had been chatting with clients in the reception room, making sure they had a drink in their hand, a smile on their face, and one of her girls on their arm.
Rosie was in the front room, which in times past had once been the family living room, but which Lily had converted into a very beautiful, rather lavish office, furnished with either authentic antiques or very convincing reproductions. The walls had been decorated with red and gold patterned wallpaper and then adorned with gilded oil paintings. The centrepiece of the room was a magnificent twelve-branch crystal chandelier, hanging from an elaborate rose coving on the ceiling. The bordello’s office had a Louis XIV theme to it, and was where clients went to settle their bill, or pay any other monies owed, as Lily also indulged in a sideline of luxury goods from the black market. It was partly because of this extracurricular moonlighting that she was particularly interested in, and a little concerned about, DS Miller, especially as she knew he was working with the Dock Police.
Lily handed Rosie one of the two bulbous cognac glasses with which she had arrived, and that had been filled with just a splash of French brandy, as both she and Rosie always liked to keep a clear head – at least until the end of the evening.
‘We may have enjoyed a few cups of tea together of late,’ Rosie said coyly as Lily nestled herself into the large cushioned armchair on the other side of the huge, ornately carved cherry-wood desk behind which Rosie was seated.
Rosie had the thick red leather-bound accounts ledger out, and when Lily had arrived she had been tapping away with the end of her pencil at the keys of the green mechanical comptometer that she had acquired after seeing them being used during her short spell working in the admin department at the yard. She had been finding it hard, though, to concentrate on the lines of figures, as her mind kept pinging back to her tryst earlier on with the detective and, more so, to the feeling she had experienced when he had taken hold of her hand. Every time she thought about it, her entire body seemed to tingle and her temperature felt as if it was shooting up a few degrees.
Lily eyed Rosie over her horn-rimmed glasses as she took a sip of her Rémy Martin and thought that she had never seen her look as happy as she had lately. She knew Rosie had a few troubles to sort out at the yard, but that didn’t seem to be making a dent in her jovial, light-hearted, and often dreamy countenance of late.
‘So, ma chérie, am I sensing the potential for a little romance on the horizon with your nouvel ami – your new friend?’
‘I know what nouvel ami means, Lily!’ Rosie chuckled. ‘You’ve just about succeeded in making me – what’s the right way of saying it – bilingual. But you’ll rue the day when I get so good that I run off to join the French resistance – or should I say, La Résistance française?’
Rosie was enjoying teasing her work partner and creating a distraction, but Lily wasn’t anyone’s fool, and knew Rosie was avoiding her question.
‘Mm? So? Is there a fledgling romance on the horizon?’ Lily wasn’t going to give up easily, and continued to push for an answer.
Rosie laughed out loud. ‘As they say in good Old Blighty, Lily, “don’t be so bleedin’ nosy”.’
Lily crossed her legs and sat up straight, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and giving Rosie a steely glare over the top of the delicate tortoiseshell frames.
‘I’m pleased to say your French accent is far superior to your attempts at “Cor blimey cockney”. And, I hasten to add, more becoming.’
Lily knew she wasn’t going to eke any more information out of her business partner. Rosie had always kept her cards close to her chest – even though she knew she could trust both Lily and George with her life.
‘Actually, I think you would make a good undercover operative. If my own personal experiences of your tight-lipped retorts are anything to go by, the Gestapo would certainly struggle to get you to divulge what you had for your supper – never mind any classified top-secret information!’
The women’s tongue-in-cheek repartee was brought to a halt by the faint sound of timid knocking on the door of the office, which had been left slightly ajar.
‘That has to be Kate,’ Lily said, craning her head round and shouting out in the direction of the door, ‘Come in!’
Kate slipped through the narrow gap in the doorway, as if she were too afraid to open it wide.
‘What have I told you Kate, ma chérie? Never be ashamed of your presence. Knock loudly. Speak clearly!’
Rosie stood up on seeing Kate and, making her way around her huge desk, quickly walked over to give her old schoolfriend a welcoming hug. Kate’s body automatically stiffened, but her face said she was happy with the show of affection.
‘Poor you being stuck with this one day in day out,’ she said with a deadpan face, nodding her head over in the direction of Lily. ‘She can be a right old nag!’
‘Enough of the “old”,’ Lily interjected.
Kate braved a smile.
‘Just say when you’ve had enough of it here in this madhouse,’ Rosie added, but Kate vigorously shook her head from side to side. She had no intention of ever leaving her new home. She had never felt happier, although she kept the feeling of euphoria she had felt, from the moment Rosie had brought her here, well under wraps. She still wasn’t sure how long the arrangement would last. And there was a part of her bracing herself for a return to the streets.
