‘Do you know all about the real Cleopatra?’ he asked Cleo immediately, as he munched happily into his sugarless carrot cake.
Cleo thought quickly. It was obvious to her that the boy was anxious to show his knowledge.
‘Well, I was born in Egypt and my dad said she was an Egyptian queen; I don’t know much about her except that someone rolled her up in a carpet.’
George was delighted to show her the difference between historical fact and fiction. ‘Miss Partridge told me all about Cleopatra and Julius Caesar. Do you know who Caesar was?’
Cleo had a sinking feeling that she might be doomed to spend her entire forty-eight hours’ leave reliving her secondary education. It was obvious that the boy remembered every word spoken by the wonderful Miss Partridge. ‘I do indeed, George,’ she said, ignoring the disappointed look on his thin face. ‘We could talk about Roman history but isn’t Sergeant Petrie coming tonight? He’ll want to talk to his sister, won’t he?’
Flora’s face had worn an enormous smile when she had told the girls that, hearing of Rose’s expected visit, Sam had requested – and been given – a twenty-four-hour pass. ‘He’ll be here soon,’ she said, ‘and he’ll have news of Grace and of Daisy.’
So it proved.
Sam arrived just as his father was on his way out to do his usual fire-watching shift. Fred had time only to hug his son, and say, ‘I’ll catch you at breakfast, lad,’ before hurrying off.
Cleo looked somewhat shocked as Flora brought out yet another tin. ‘Doesn’t rationing affect grocers?’ she asked, and was immediately ashamed of herself. ‘Oh gosh, Mrs Petrie, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.’
Rose laughed. ‘My parents are as honest as the day is long, Cleo, but Mum has made stretching rations into a science. In other words, when she’s expecting one of us, she and Dad do without and all rations are saved.’ She looked across at her mother, who was pretending not to hear. ‘They think we don’t know but we do.’
‘My mother’s housekeeper was exactly like that, Mrs Petrie,’ said Cleo, anxious to make reparation for her insensitive remark. ‘Probably mothers all over the country are doing without so that their children can have everything they need. Are meals still good in the army, Sam?’
Sam smiled at her. ‘Depends on where the army is. It wasn’t too good in the POW camps, except when we got Red Cross parcels. We got them from the Yanks, the Canadians, and our own. Camp I was in, we had some trouble with guards; they sometimes pinched our stuff. Mind you, I don’t think the poor beggars got much more to eat than we did. We traded with them sometimes. Everybody got cigarettes and I exchanged mine for other things – vitamin C tablets, writing paper.’
‘You got parcels from America? But they weren’t in the war then, Sam. They only joined after the Japs bombed them at Pearl Harbor just before Christmas last year.’
‘They still gave aid. Every country in sympathy with the Allies did a bit. The parcels went to a Red Cross centre in Geneva, I think, and the Swiss distributed them to every camp. Nobody cared where the parcels came from. The notes inside were in several languages: Yugoslav, French, English, Polish – a lot more. We’ll never forget the Red Cross or the St John. And you’ll see, now that the Yanks are in, they’ll come to Britain and they’ll fight with us in Europe.’
Cleo was deeply moved. ‘I’ve been a bit sheltered, Sam, I’m afraid. I didn’t know any of that about the Red Cross parcels. Good people everywhere. Makes me proud to have joined up.’
‘We’ve got a friend in the Land Army, Cleo,’ put in George. ‘She’s Sam’s sweetheart, isn’t she, Sam?’
Sam stood up and looked at his mother. ‘Isn’t it time for little boys to go to bed, Mum?’
‘I was just saying about Grace so you could tell Cleo about farm food,’ said the aggrieved George.
‘Well, actually—’ began Cleo, but before she could say another word they heard the doorbell.
‘I’ll get it, Mum,’ called Rose, already running quickly down the wooden stairs to the back door.
‘Sally Brewer, I don’t believe it.’ Rose’s excited voice rang out on the staircase. ‘Mum, Sam, George, you’ll never guess who’s here.’
George jumped up. ‘Sally’s a film star,’ he boasted somewhat erroneously, going to meet her. He stopped before running down the stairs and called back, ‘A real one.’
It was a lovely reunion: Rose, Sally and Sam actually there in the familiar, comfortable living room, with Grace and Daisy present in spirit. Phil was at sea. The family was conscious, as always, that since Ron had been killed it could never be complete again, but they did not burden others with their personal sorrows. They welcomed Sally, who had come down from London, where she had had the smallest of small parts in an actual West End play. Her news, which she had hoped would excite Rose, was that she was going to be in a musical – in Guildford.
Rose, and Cleo, who was almost as star-struck as George, groaned. ‘We’ve finished training. We’re leaving Guildford.’
They cheered up when Sally told them all manner of stories connected with her time in the theatre, actors and actresses she had met, screen tests she had had for film-makers and the, admittedly, tiny parts she had had in propaganda films. ‘I actually stood beside Noël Coward for three whole minutes in a film.’
‘The real Noël Coward. Wow.’ Cleo breathed out the word in awe.
Sally added Cleo to her list of ‘suitable friends to be invited’, and then organised the group into writing round-robin letters to Daisy, Grace and Phil. ‘Everyone writes a sentence about anything and signs it, and we’ll keep going till everyone has written at least one sentence on each letter.’
‘But I don’t know them, Sally,’ Cleo pointed out.
‘They won’t mind, and besides, you’re bound to meet them one day. Seems to me the whole world wants to be looked after by the Petries, and Flora and Fred want to look after everyone. Relax and enjoy!’
Much later than ten o’clock George, grudgingly, went off to bed, as did Flora, and Sam walked Sally back to her home.
‘We always thought Sam was sweet on Sally,’ Rose told Cleo as they brushed their hair before turning off the very dim bedroom light. ‘But you couldn’t doubt where his heart really is when you see him with Grace. Funny old thing, love.’
‘Hysterical,’ agreed Cleo.
They were asleep in minutes.
The great day came. The intensive study and hard work of just three weeks – which somehow seemed to have been much longer – were behind them.
With the exception of Chrissy, the occupants of Rose’s hut were wide awake by five-thirty; few of them had been able to sleep at all.
Would anyone be told that she just did not measure up? They had been together for such a short time but they were a team, a family, supporting one another, and today they would be parted and perhaps would never see each other again. It was a sobering thought for all but the two ‘boarding school girls’, who were quite used to meeting and parting.
‘Royal Mail, girls, fabulous invention, and there is the telephone,’ said Cleo. ‘Let’s make a pact to meet somewhere every year. All suggestions for suitable venues gladly received.’
‘Officer material if ever I saw it,’ said Avril Hunter. ‘Were you head girl, by any chance, Cleo?’
‘God, no,’ said Cleo, adjusting her beautifully