But it was too late. That initial reaction jogged her memory of when she’d first met Dickie. She’d come home from teaching for the summer holidays and had just brought her father and Marjorie a cup of tea. She saw the appreciative smile as the man looked at her, then lowered his eyes to her hands, giving a slight nod. It was the summer before war was declared.
‘He came in every day for a week,’ her father told her, smiling. ‘Poor chap. You should see the look of disappointment on his face when he sees you’re not there. He’s been in just now and asked me to give you this note.’
Lana laughed. ‘It’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel,’ she said as she picked up the letter opener her father always had handy in a jam jar on one of the shelves behind her.
Dear Lana, (it’s what your father calls you so I hope you don’t mind)
I keep hoping to see you when I go in the shop, but I’ve now run out of things to buy!
So I prepared this note in case the same thing happened today – and it did. You weren’t anywhere in sight.
I was wondering if you fancy going out somewhere where we can talk. I would like to get to know you better and hope you feel the same. If so, we can go to a little restaurant in York where I know the owner. The food is very good.
What about this Saturday? Say, 7 p.m.?
Do please say you’ll come.
Dickie Knight – maybe your knight in shining armour!
She’d laughed at that and taken a chance, though she’d been wary. She knew nothing about him but her father vouched for him saying he’d been a regular customer for the last three months and was always polite and well spoken. As if that made him a good person. Lana gave a wry smile. But her father prided himself on being a good judge of character.
Six weeks later Dickie told her he had fallen in love with her. Then the following week Hitler invaded Poland, and three days later Britain declared war on Germany. Dickie joined the Merchant Navy the following day.
He loved the sea – she knew that. It was her only major concern. She’d have to be prepared for long absences. But in a way it suited her independent spirit. It was always romantic when he came home on shore leave – as though they were meeting for the first time.
It had taken a year before he’d mentioned marriage.
‘I’ve decided when this blasted war ends I want to settle on shore. I’ve already seen enough sea to last me the rest of my life. And enough terrible things.’
He’d always refused to give her any details.
‘You don’t want to know,’ he’d said, tenderly smoothing the hair away from her forehead and kissing it. ‘But I’ve realised I want to be with you always. Will you marry me, darling Lana? I promise I’ll be a good husband.’
‘You’d damned well better be,’ she laughed. ‘And the answer is yes, I’ll marry you. But only when the war is over.’
‘Why wait? We’re not a couple of kids. I’m thirty-two and you’re twenty-nine.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ she’d said, chuckling. ‘All right, then, we’ll marry the next time you have at least three days’ leave. I’m determined to have a honeymoon, even if it’s only two nights.’
Feeling the tears well at the memory she rushed from the shop, leaving her father to serve the man who’d reminded her so much of Dickie. She had to get away. Dickie was right. She’d be far more use teaching children.
Lana could almost see in her mind’s eye Dickie’s triumphant grin when she telephoned Mr Shepherd to say she’d decided to take the position as temporary headmistress.
‘When can you start?’ he asked immediately.
She thought quickly. It was 29th March. ‘What about the beginning of May? Easter is late this year so I could come after that.’
‘What about the first of April?’ Mr Shepherd didn’t pause.
Lana grinned to herself. ‘And risk being an April Fool?’
This time Mr Shepherd clearly hesitated. Then his voice came over the line. ‘The second, then. Would that be possible? I can’t tell you how desperate we are, and we think you’ll be the perfect choice.’
‘You’re not giving me much notice,’ Lana said, reluctantly. But what notice did she really need? Mrs Brooke, a young widow, had started that morning in the shop and appeared quick to learn and was delightful with the customers. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘The second of April it is.’
His sigh of relief blew down the telephone wire, making her smile. ‘Good. I’ll get the paperwork ready for you to sign when you’re here.’ She could picture him now, relieved the headmistress vacancy was resolved. ‘It will be a three-month probation period to make sure we’re happy on both sides. I’m sure we will be. The salary will be five guineas a week, all found, with most Saturdays and every Sunday off. One week’s holiday pay a year.’
Lana hesitated. She’d have to say something.
‘Five guineas a week sounds wonderful, but you told me at the interview it was four pounds.’
‘My fault. I was looking at the teachers’ salary. You’ll be the headmistress but I appreciate you telling me.’ He paused. ‘Does that sound fair?’
‘Very.’ Strangely she felt a huge relief as though an inner part of her was settled.
‘Any further questions?’
‘Do any of the children board?’
‘No. It’s strictly a day school. But with this war we know that could change at any minute. We have a couple of large upper rooms that could easily be turned into dormitories, should the need arise.’
She could sense that Mr Shepherd wasn’t about to make any idle chat. He’d got the replacement and simply wanted to get on with matters. That suited her very well.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Shepherd,’ Lana finished. ‘You’ve been most kind.’
‘We will look forward to seeing you in four days’ time, then.’
‘Yes, four days’ time,’ she repeated.
Maybe things were finally falling into place.
April 1943
Her body bent in an ungainly position, Lana struggled with her suitcase up the short drive to the school. The case was so heavy she’d had to keep changing hands. Most of the weight was in books. A few for herself, a couple of teaching books and a good dictionary, just in case the school didn’t have a decent one.
She rang the bell and stepped in the hall as she had the first time, but George Shepherd was nowhere in sight. Neither was the woman with the tight bun behind the glazed screen. Instead, a tallish woman with no-nonsense dark brown hair tied back strode towards her and stuck out her hand.
‘You must be Lana Ashwin. Janice Parkes. How do you do?’ The woman’s voice was as clipped as her manner.
Lana put her hand into the woman’s larger one, inwardly satisfied to note she was that bit taller than the teacher.
‘Very pleased to meet you.’
‘I believe you’ll be sharing my cottage,’ Janice Parkes said.
Did she detect a cool note in the teacher’s voice? Maybe the woman was