‘Certainly,’ she said, with a winning smile.
The following week she accompanied Captain Lawrence McCaskill Rambo to Kettner’s restaurant in Soho. It was a glamorous place, with mirrored, panelled walls and a pianist tinkling away in the corner, and Margaret felt a stab of longing as she thought how good she and Taylor would have looked there together.
Lawrence was the perfect gentleman, however, pulling out her chair and ordering for them both. As they ate he regaled her with stories about his time in the Canadian forces. ‘They told us you can’t get seasick in a hammock, because it rolls with the ship,’ he said. ‘Well, I can tell you, it’s an outrageous lie! Three of the men were hanging so far over the rails being sick that their false teeth are now sitting on the Atlantic seabed!’
Margaret learned how, after arriving in Britain, Lawrence had been sent to the Scottish highlands with the Forestry Corps. ‘Now, this is a Georgia boy who thought thirty degrees was a cold day,’ he said, shivering at the memory.
‘So, how did you end up in the American Army?’ she asked him.
‘Well, when Uncle Sam finally decided to join the war, I was shipped back to America,’ he told her. ‘I was so darn angry I threw my papers overboard before we got into New York, hoping they’d send me back to England. Sure enough they did, but when I arrived they wouldn’t let me off here either. I went back and forth across that ocean six times!’
Margaret was soon in tears of laughter. The captain was clearly quite a storyteller, and he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing loudly at the end of each tale, even though he hadn’t had a drop of wine. What he lacked in looks he made up for in confidence and charisma, and she felt she could listen to him talk all night. Afterwards, she went back with him to his flat in Kensington and did her best to lose herself in his embrace, trying to block out thoughts of her previous boyfriend.
The next day at the office, however, she made sure to tell Grace all about her date with Captain Rambo, counting on her to spread the news around the office. Margaret hoped it wouldn’t be long until it reached Taylor’s ears.
In the meantime, Lawrence proved to be a welcome distraction from her broken heart. His job was in purchasing and contracting, and he was constantly going back and forth between ETOUSA HQ and Whitehall to liaise about equipment that would eventually be needed for the invasion of Europe. As a result he came into her office all the time, asking her out on many more dates over the following weeks.
She soon learned that he came from an old land-owning family in Blakely, Georgia, where his late father had been the judge of the city court. She couldn’t help being impressed by this, and by the fact that he was university educated. He also turned out to be a book lover like herself, and soon started lending her novels.
But despite all the time Margaret was spending with Lawrence, Taylor still hadn’t made any attempt to win her back. She decided the only way forward was to contact him herself, so one evening after work she called him at his flat.
‘Oh, hi, Margaret,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m very well,’ she replied. She chatted for a little while, and then dropped in nonchalantly, ‘I’ve been dating a captain in the Engineer Service, Captain Rambo. Perhaps you know him?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Taylor replied, unconcerned. ‘Well, I’ve gotta go. See ya.’
After she hung up, Margaret felt almost as wretched as she had done when Taylor had thrown her over. He clearly wasn’t the slightest bit jealous, and all she had done was embarrass herself again.
When Lawrence called later asking if she was free, she ran to him. She didn’t want to be alone that night, and it felt good to be in the arms of a man who she knew really wanted her.
The following week, Margaret was surprised to find she had missed her period. She put it down to the distress caused by Taylor and forgot all about it. But a month later, still it hadn’t come, so she made an appointment with a doctor.
‘I’m afraid to say you’re pregnant,’ he told her.
‘How is that possible?’ Margaret cried. ‘I used the cap.’
‘Oh, those things don’t always work,’ he replied.
Margaret couldn’t believe it. She rushed out of the doctor’s surgery and hurried home as quickly as she could, afraid she might burst into tears in the street. Once in the house she ran up to her room and locked the door behind her, before collapsing on the bed and crying bitterly into her pillow.
Margaret felt beside herself with fear and regret. She had only really gone out with Lawrence to make Taylor jealous, and now not only had her plan failed, but it had backfired in the worst way imaginable. To give birth to an illegitimate baby would utterly ruin her, and her family would never get over it.
The next day was a Sunday, and Margaret spent the whole day locked in her room. The landlady came and knocked on the door, worried about her. ‘I’m all right – just a slight cold,’ Margaret called out. But inside the room she was in hell. She hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours and she had been crying all night long. To make matters worse she was feeling nauseous, and wasn’t sure if it was the pregnancy or her dread of it that was making her want to vomit.
Once again she felt how alone she was in the world. If only she had a normal mother, perhaps she could have turned to her and confessed what had happened. But she hadn’t had any contact with Mrs Boyle since she had left Ireland. The thought of her military father finding out about the pregnancy filled her with dread. Margaret knew abortions were illegal, and that backstreet abortionists were often little better than butchers. If she was going to find a solution to this problem, she would have to find it for herself.
She went to the cupboard, took out a wire coat hanger and untwisted it. Then she lay down on the bed, took a deep breath to steady her sobbing and inserted the hook.
4
In July 1943 the US Army took over the port of Southampton, putting the docks under the control of their 14th Port Transportation Corps, who would handle the huge influx of cargo necessary for the invasion of Europe. Before long, the city had become the chief supply centre for the Americans in Britain.
One local girl had a perfect vantage point from which to study the American officers as they zoomed in and out of the forecourt of the grand, red-bricked Polygon Hotel, where they were billeted. Gwendolyn Rowe counted herself lucky, at seventeen, to have scored a job as a shorthand typist at the Chamber of Commerce just opposite the hotel, where she and her female colleagues watched the new arrivals with great interest. When she cycled into work, her glossy black hair streaming in the wind, she always drew calls of, ‘Hey, baby – slow down for me!’ But she responded with a curt ‘I’m not your baby.’
Watching from afar was one thing, but Gwen’s first real encounter with an American soldier had been something of an embarrassment. A young GI, slouching along her road with his hands in his pockets, had made her almost jump out of her skin by suddenly pulling out a small box and waving it in her face. ‘Hey, want some talc, miss?’ he asked.
Gwen was infuriated. What did he think she was – a charity case? ‘No, I do not,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t take presents from strangers.’
The young man’s face fell. ‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to cause no harm,’ he said.
Gwen’s mother Mrs Rowe, a forthright Scottish lady with raven hair just like her daughter’s, had witnessed the scene from the doorway of their house on Padwell Road. As soon as Gwen reached the doorstep, she reprimanded her: ‘Those men are here to help us. You go back at once and say thank you.’
Gwen