Winter on the Mersey(31)
‘He got a transfer to Clydebank,’ Vera said, puffing up with importance. ‘He’s doing very well for himself, working his fingers to the bone for the war effort.’
Not what Danny used to say about him, Violet thought, but didn’t speak it out loud. Danny and Alfie had worked together down at the Gladstone Dock and nobody had a good word for him.
‘I see,’ she said neutrally. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you, Mrs Delaney. There’s still a nip in the air once the sun starts to go down.’ She hoped the woman would get the hint. If she wasn’t going to buy anything, Violet wanted her out of the shop so she could shut up and go home.
Vera sniffed again but didn’t linger, turning on her heel and leaving without saying anything further.
Violet breathed a sigh of relief as she drew the bolt on the door. There were times when she wished she was better at doing the books or other backroom tasks, as some of the difficult customers could try the patience of a saint, and tonight she didn’t have any patience left. But it was her job to smile and get on with people, so she had to do it. She wanted to be back in her room, dwelling on the sweet memories of the time she’d shared there with Eddy.
He’d been back on duty for a fortnight or so now, but she could still picture him sharply in her mind, and what a wonderful week they’d had together when he was on leave. Truly, she was the luckiest woman in the world to have a man like him. She pulled down the blackout blind, just in case Rita or Ruby needed to come into the shop later on. She was dog-tired, even though she hadn’t done anything exerting today. On some of her free evenings she’d begun to persuade Ruby to come to the pictures with her, but she hadn’t had the energy even to suggest it since Eddy had gone back. Never mind. Dolly was making stew with some of the spring greens, and that would pep her up. As good as a tonic, Dolly’s stews were. Wearily she took off her gingham apron and folded it away under the counter, picked up the handbag she’d made herself from remnants, and let herself out of the side entrance. She wondered what Eddy was doing at that very moment. Perhaps he was halfway to Canada, but he’d be safe now the U-boat threat had been averted.
‘How about a cocktail?’ Laura suggested, trying to be jaunty and not let her worry show. That was the last thing Peter needed. He was under enough strain as it was, preparing for the big offensive that nobody was meant to know about but which seemed to be common knowledge, at least in their circles. ‘I’m simply dying for a martini. How very convenient that your uncle can get hold of the necessary ingredients. I swear I wouldn’t last the week without one.’
Peter’s handsome face broke into a smile, the frown lines relaxing for once. She nodded in delight, hoping that she’d distracted him from whatever was causing those lines to deepen by the day, almost by the hour. The creases at his eyes were deeper too – laughter lines, she called them, wanting to cheer him up. The truth was that the responsibility of being a captain in a navy at war had aged him, the good looks that had attracted her to begin with still there, but now tempered by two extra years of sleep deprivation, stressful shifts, and the knowledge that his every decision affected the lives of the men serving under him. On top of all that, there were the endless meetings.
It was one such meeting that had brought him back to London from his new base, close to Portsmouth on the south coast. At least it wasn’t far to travel – although the train had been slow, he’d reported, and he’d only just made it in time. He didn’t think it worth the risk of trying to return on the same evening, and so he and Laura were snatching a precious night together at his uncle the admiral’s flat.
‘You make it,’ he said lightly. ‘When it comes to cocktails, you’re the queen. I wouldn’t dare to compete.’
‘There speaks a man who knows his own skills and recognises those of others,’ said Laura, swinging around and letting her bias-cut flared skirt twirl around her shapely legs. ‘No wonder you’ve risen far in the ranks. Giving credit where it’s due will get you a long way.’ She dug around in the admiral’s fine antique cupboard for two suitable glasses, and held them up to the light of the sparkling chandelier. ‘Excellent. These’ll do.’
‘Anyone would think you did this every day of the week,’ said Peter, relaxing back on to the cream and gold cushions of the ample sofa. ‘Rather than drinking lukewarm tea out of chipped cups in the Wrens’ mess.’
‘Or even more lukewarm tea out of enamel mugs while standing around waiting for my next passenger to bother to show up,’ Laura reminded him, unscrewing the lid of a bottle. ‘Let’s not forget that, as it makes up so much of my working day. Ah, the glamour of it. Street corners of London I have known. Maybe I’ll write a book about them once the fighting’s over.’
‘You’re certainly the expert,’ Peter agreed. ‘In that and reversing into impossibly tight spaces.’
‘It’s why you love me, I know,’ said Laura, holding the glass of viscous liquid at eye level and deciding it was perfect. ‘I am under no illusions at all. My reversing skills were the top priority, I fully understand.’ She gave him a dazzling smile as she came across to the sofa, set both glasses down on the glass-topped coffee table and settled down beside him, snuggling close to him so that she could breathe in his distinctive scent – of his favourite cologne, a precious bottle of which he still kept at the admiral’s flat, his freshly laundered crisp white shirt, and that extra musky note which was unique to him. For a brief moment she shut her eyes.