They were only a week away from Christmas and it had been decided that the girls would attend the Hammersmith Palais’s Saturday night dance the day before Christmas Eve, since on Christmas Eve itself they would be going to the dance at the church hall.
All the shops had made a brave show of putting up their decorations in their windows, but of course there could be no Christmas lights because of the blackout, and it seemed to Olive as she did her Christmas shopping, queuing up with other housewives, that there was an atmosphere of weariness and irritation rather than of anticipation. And no wonder. So many of the shops seemed to have sold out of things, which meant shopping around to find increasingly elusive necessities.
Olive was glad that she had stocked up early. Her mother, having been in service, had instilled in Olive the importance of keeping a well-stocked kitchen cupboard, a habit also favoured by her late mother-in-law. Olive took it for granted that her own cupboards were always filled with fruit bottled in season, jams and pickles made from ingredients she’d bought from the barrow boys at bargain prices, and a good supply of tinned things, just as she knew to a nicety how to make a joint last from Sunday until Wednesday and how to make a tasty meal out of leftovers.
She’d heard several women complaining that they’d been unable to buy jars of mincemeat for their mince tarts, but she had plenty in her store cupboard. She just hoped that the goose she’d ordered would be big enough to go round. She’d got some sausagemeat on order for the sausage rolls she intended to make for her Boxing Day party, and she planned to cook a ham as well.
Her local greengrocer had promised her a nice bushy Christmas tree. Sergeant Dawson had offered to get her one from Covent Garden when he got one for the police station. Mrs Dawson wouldn’t have a tree in the house since they’d lost their lad, he told her. She’d thanked him but explained that she’d already ordered her tree, and then on impulse she’d told him about her Boxing Day get-together and said that he and Mrs Dawson would be welcome if they fancied coming along.
They’d been busy in the Lady Almoner’s office with patients who were well enough to get home in time for Christmas, which meant that there’d been lots of coming and goings. Most of their patients were in hospital insurance schemes, which paid their bills when they were in hospital. This meant extra administration for Tilly and her colleagues at this busy time of year.
When the tall dark-haired man in naval officer’s uniform came in at lunch time, Tilly was manning the office on her own, having volunteered to do so. First sitting in the canteen was always more popular than second because the food was hotter and you got bigger portions.
The officer was carrying his cap and smiled warmly when Tilly asked if she could help him.
‘I hope so,’ he answered. ‘Only I’m trying to trace someone, a nurse, a friend from Liverpool, by the name of Sally Johnson, who I think might be working at St Barts. I’ve already tried St Thomas’s and Guy’s without any success.’
Tilly nearly fell off her chair. She was deeply conscious of the debt she owed Sally for offering to go with them to the Palais, and she was delighted at the thought of being able to do something for her in return, especially when it meant putting her back in touch with such a handsome and friendly-looking man. Of course, they weren’t really supposed to give out people’s addresses, but in this instance that surely didn’t matter. Tilly couldn’t imagine Sally not wanting her friend to be able to find her, especially when he had gone to such a lot of trouble to do so.
She gave him a beaming smile, unable to stop herself from bursting out, ‘I know Sally. In fact she lodges with us. Oh, fancy you coming in and asking for her and me being here.’
‘A happy coincidence indeed,’ he agreed with another smile.
‘Sally’s on duty at the moment, but I’ll give you the address. Although you’d be better not to call until this evening. Around seven o’clock would probably be best. It’s number thirteen Article Row,’ she informed him happily, only realising once he had thanked her and left that she’d been so excited that she hadn’t thought to ask him his name.
Tilly hummed happily to herself as she got on with her work. She couldn’t wait to tell Sally about her impending visitor.
Tilly didn’t get the chance to tell Sally about the naval officer until they were both back at number 13, Tilly positively bursting with delight when she came in to find Sally in the kitchen with her mother.
‘You’ll never guess what, Sally. A man came into the office today asking for you, and he’s coming round to see you tonight. At least, I think he is.’
Sally, who had been standing up, sank down into one of the kitchen chairs, the colour draining from her face, leaving her skin the colour of milk.
‘A man, you say? Did he give you his name?’
Tilly shook her head. She could see that something was wrong and that Sally looked upset. Conscience-stricken, she told her lamely, ‘He was ever so nice. Good-looking too. He said he was from Liverpool. I thought . . . I thought you’d be pleased to see an old friend.’
Somehow Sally managed to produce a wan smile although it was an effort. It wasn’t Tilly’s fault. Tilly was desperate to show her how grateful she was over her intervention with her mother with regard to the Hammersmith Palais visit. At Tilly’s age she would probably have done the same thing.
‘Oh, Tilly,’ Olive shook her head reproachfully, ‘you shouldn’t have given him Sally’s address without checking with Sally herself first.’
Callum. It had to be him. It couldn’t be anyone else. Sally felt acutely sick. There was no point in upbraiding poor Tilly, though. She was now looking distressed enough as it was.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing,’ Tilly said, looking flustered and guilty.
‘No . . . it’s all right,’ Sally told her unsteadily, feeling obliged to explain, ‘Callum’s sister married my father after my own mother’s death.’
Olive’s breath escaped in an understanding sound of compassion whilst Tilly looked confused.
‘I left Liverpool because I . . . didn’t approve of the marriage. I dare say Callum hopes that time and distance have softened my feelings.’
‘You don’t have to see him,’ Olive told her. ‘I am quite willing to tell him that you don’t wish to, Sally.’
Sally was tempted to accept Olive’s offer. Seeing Callum was bound to be emotionally painful. But what if something had happened to her father? Anxiety speared through her.
‘No. It will be better if I see him. That way I can make it plain to him that I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Tilly looked even more guilty and miserable.
‘You weren’t to know, Tilly. Callum is a very decent and respectable man. There would be no reason for you to suspect him of anything unpleasant. He’s a schoolteacher.’
‘He was in uniform,’ Tilly blurted out. ‘Navy. An officer’s uniform, I thought.’
Sally disliked the reasons that her heart was bumping along the bottom of her ribcage even less than she liked the uncomfortable breathless feeling it was giving her. Callum meant nothing to her now. She didn’t care what danger he might put himself into.
‘When he comes, Sally, you can see him in the front room. You can be private in there, and I’m here if you should need me.’
Sally smiled her thanks to Olive, shaking her head when her landlady continued, ‘We’ll have tea now, I think. That way Sally’s visitor isn’t likely to arrive when we’re