‘The war happened, Bill,’ she said softly, eyes sad. ‘Oh, I know wars are immoral, but that one gave a whole generation of women their freedom. This ladylike lassie was away like a shot to London, translating.’
‘And you met a lot of wounded airmen …?’
‘Yes. And I met you, Bill.’
‘But what made you do it, darling? Escorting airmen with their faces burned away – didn’t it embarrass you, showing them around London, with people looking away and –’
‘No, it didn’t. I did it for Tim. And your face wasn’t as badly burned as some.’
‘No. I was blind,’ he offered without rancour.
‘Yes, but you aren’t now. Tell me, Bill –’ She changed the subject quickly, so she needn’t think about Tim. ‘– are you always going to paint flowers and florals?’
‘Why not? It’s what I do best and it brings in the shekels. I’m not going to live off my wife!’
‘No one wants you to, so don’t get all Scottish prickly about it! Just because I’m not short of a pound or two doesn’t mean you’re a kept man.’
‘Not short! The way I see it you’re filthy rich!’
‘I’ve been lucky. Mother didn’t have to marry money, exactly, but it seemed fortunate at the time that she fell in love where money grew on trees. And because of it, a lot of it came my way, through my father. Us Petrovskas hadn’t a bean. Left it all behind in St Petersburg – sorry, Leningrad.’
‘Aye, and when your granny died she left you this house, an’ all.’
‘True. But Grandmother Clementina, as I have often said, probably did it when she was tanked up on brandy. She hit the bottle in a big way, when my father was killed. And she didn’t leave it to me, exactly. Denniston House was her wedding present to my parents and she left things the way they were. If you want to split hairs, it was Grandfather Sutton who willed the money to me. He was a darling; didn’t deserve to be married to Clementina.’
An absolute old love, who had understood about Tim. The only grown-up, it had seemed, she could trust with her secret.
‘But Tatty – why should the old lady have taken on so? She had two other sons.’
‘Yes, but they weren’t her precious Elliot!’
‘That’s a gui’ peculiar way to speak of your dead father.’
‘Why is it? He didn’t like me. I was a girl. Why should I like him?’
‘Dislike a man you don’t even remember,’ Bill said softly, heeding the narrowed eyes, the disapproving mouth.
‘I do remember him. At least, I remember memories. Always unhappiness, and my mother sobbing …’
‘Then one thing I promise. I’ll not make you cry, sweetheart. And I’m in danger of getting sentimental and sloppy so I’d best be away to my celibate garret,’ he grinned. ‘Besides, I need to be up early – get the morning light. I aim to have the watercolour finished tomorrow – want something half-decent to show to the agent.’
‘Must you go, just yet?’ Tatiana teased her fingertips over his face. ‘It’ll be cold in the loft and you haven’t any paraffin left for your stove …’
‘Aye! We won a war and three years on we’re still rationed! Four-page newspapers, ninety miles of petrol a month for cars, a shortage of coal and the RAF airlifting food to Berlin instead of bombing it!’
‘Never mind. At the end of this month we’ll be allowed to use gas and electric fires again, so on October first you’ll be able to plug in and warm up.’
‘So I will. But why is this country in such a mess? It’s like we’re still at war. They’ve even rationed bread, now, and bread was never rationed, as I remember it, even though most of our wheat was brought here in convoys!’
‘Darling! I love it when you get on your soapbox – especially when you have a dig at Mr Attlee, and you a red-hot socialist! The war cost a lot of money – I suppose it’s got to be paid for, now. And you’ve got your National Health Service at long last. Free false teeth, free spectacles, pills and potions and operations for nothing. And no doctors’ bills coming in every month! So kiss me goodnight and go to bed. Would you like a hot-water bottle?’ she asked, eyes impish.
‘So what do you take me for – a jessie, or something?’
They were laughing now, and kissing, with Tatiana murmuring, ‘I love you, Sergeant Benson. Can’t wait for December.’
‘And you, hennie darling, will get your bottom spanked if you don’t stop your teasing! So one more kiss, then throw me out, eh?’
At the door he turned.
‘Oh and by the way, Miss Sutton, I love you, too. Even though you’re a filthy capitalist, I love you a lot!’
‘There now. The Whitecliffe jewels.’ Julia Sutton arranged lockets, necklaces and rings on the coffee table beside the fire. ‘I’ll leave the pair of you to it. Take what you want, Lyndis.’
‘They’re so beautiful.’ Lyn took a heavy gold locket containing a lock of pale yellow baby hair. ‘Who did this curl belong to?’
‘Haven’t a clue, though I’d like to think it was my mother’s hair,’ Julia smiled. ‘Mother was very fair. Glad you like them. Didn’t think you young ones would go for old-fashioned stuff like this.’
‘Old-fashioned, Mrs Sutton? But they’re family history. Much more special than going to a jeweller’s and asking to try on the third one down on the left of tray twenty-six.’
‘If there were decent rings in the shops to choose from, don’t you mean, Lyn? Why is this war lasting so long – the shortages, I mean. Do without. Export or die, the government tells us. Tighten your belts. Though I suppose it’s better, now, than it was after my war,’ Julia frowned. ‘At least war heroes aren’t being thrown on the scrapheap this time around, and forced to beg or sell bootlaces on street corners. It was an obscene war.’
‘Don’t, dearest.’ Drew took his mother’s hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Your war and my war – they’re both over, now. It’s just that it’s taking longer than we thought to clear up after this one, and – I’ll get it,’ he said, as the phone began to ring.
He hurried into the hall and it gave Lyn the chance to say, ‘Look – I’m not being awful, or anything, but is – well – is Kitty’s ring amongst these? I wouldn’t want to choose hers and upset Drew.’
‘No, Lyndis. Kitty’s ring was opals and pearls and she – we-e-ll – it went with her.’
‘Good. I’m glad. I mean, I’m glad she was – was –’
‘Wearing it at the end,’ Julia said, matter-of-factly. ‘And you might as well know the whole of it. She wore her wedding dress, too. Amelia – her mother – sent one over from America for her. It was hanging here at Rowangarth with a sheet draped over it, waiting till they could be married.’
‘Then I’m glad she wore it, but so sad …’ Lyn whispered.
‘Sad. I told Drew when I wrote to him after the funeral. He agreed with what I had done. He was in the Pacific …’
‘I remember.’
‘Of course you do! You and Daisy were Wrens together. Sorry, Lyndis. Shouldn’t have said what I did.’
‘But I began it, asking about Kitty’s ring. Just because Drew and I are going to be married doesn’t wipe out all memory of her. They were deeply in love, and I accept it.’
‘So were Andrew and I. Passionately. But love can