At Drew’s own appearance Tilly’s breath caught in her throat. He looked so smart in his dark lounge suit and crisp white shirt worn with the dark maroon tie with the tiny gold fleck that she’d given him for Christmas. The tie had been a lucky find, having been handed over to her mother’s WVS group along with other men’s clothes. It had caught Tilly’s eye as they sorted through the clothes and its Gieves & Hawkes label had had Dulcie announcing knowledgeably that it must have been very expensive when new. Tilly had been honest with Drew, explaining to him that even if she had the money for an expensive new tie she doubted that she would be able to buy one because of the ongoing shortages. Drew, to her delight, had said that he loved the tie, and tonight he was wearing it to prove that statement.
Wilder, Dulcie’s date, was wearing his habitual leather flying jacket over a white shirt and a pair of black trousers, whilst Dulcie’s brother, Rick, who was going with them, was in his army uniform. Rick’s good looks meant that no girl was likely to spend too much time looking at his clothes, Tilly admitted, but to her relief she had discovered with his return that Rick and his good looks no longer had any effect on her whatsoever.
Only now could she admit to herself that a tiny corner of her had been worried that Rick might remember her crush and perhaps comment on it in a teasing way. Thankfully he had done nothing of the kind, and the only thing to spoil her happiness was the niggling feeling of guilt because she hadn’t told Drew about that silly girlish crush.
Within minutes of the young men arriving at number 13, all five young people were piling into the taxi picked up by Wilder on his journey from the station to Article Row, having asked the cabby to wait with the promise of a good tip if he did, and were being waved off from the darkened hallway by Olive.
As they were engaged, and knowing how little privacy they had, Olive had given Ted and Agnes permission to spend a couple of hours together in her front room before they went to join in whatever traditional celebrations still might be allowed to take place in Trafalgar Square. Olive herself had accepted an invitation from the Windles to see the New Year in at the vicarage, which was within easy walking distance. Prior to getting to know Audrey, Olive had never had a really close friend. Orphaned and then married young, she had been far too busy, especially whilst she had been nursing first her husband and then later both her in-laws. Their friendship might only have come about because of the war and the fact that they were members of the same WVS unit, but it was genuine and Olive found Audrey a wonderfully soothing antidote to her neighbour Nancy’s acerbic and often spiteful attitude to their shared neighbours.
This evening’s get-together might not be going to be a party as such, but since it was New Year’s Eve Olive had decided to wear her own silk velvet dress. The rich amber fabric had been a present to her from Tilly and Agnes, and she treasured the dress as much for that as for its lovely material and elegant style. At thirty-seven, Olive was nearly as slim as her daughter, so that its boat-shaped neckline and three-quarter sleeves, along with its neatly fitting bodice and gentle A-line skirt, suited her perfectly.
She might not have spent all afternoon washing and then drying her hair, like Tilly, Dulcie and Agnes, but her natural waves meant that her weekly home shampoo and set always left her hair framing her face in a pretty natural style.
Olive knew that there was no need for her to warn Ted about the standard of behaviour she expected from the young couple left alone in the house in her front room. Ted was simply not the sort of young man to behave in anything other than the most respectable and responsible manner. And Agnes, bless her, being the timid girl that she was, was hardly likely to encourage him to break any rules.
Going upstairs to her bedroom to check her appearance and get her best coat before setting out to walk up to the top of Article Row and then across to the vicarage, Olive had a strong suspicion that she might not have been able to say the same thing about her own daughter. Tilly had always been passionately intense about everything she did and passionately proud of everyone and everything she loved. That was her nature. Drew was a well-brought-up young man – Olive could see that – but a passionate young woman in love for the first time, combined with the urgency that war brought, was not a combination that could allow any protective mother to do anything other than react with some concern.
Still, Olive thought, ten minutes later as she said good night to Ted and Agnes, and let herself out into the dark street, at least it was Drew and not Wilder who was Tilly’s beau. Try as she might, Olive couldn’t quite take to the other young American. She was prepared to accept and understand that a young man from another country, who had come to Britain expressly to offer his help in its fight against Hitler, might be justified in feeling proud of himself but whilst Wilder’s arrogance and the comments he sometimes made about others might boost him in his own eyes, in Olive’s they did him no favours at all.
Dulcie, though, seemed pleased that he had shown an interest in her. Whether she was pleased because she liked Wilder himself or because she liked the excitement of going out with a young American with plenty of money in his pockets, Olive didn’t know. Whilst there were plenty of young men in uniforms from other countries to be seen on the streets of London, Americans were a much rarer sight. There was quite a lot of openly expressed ill feeling in some quarters about the fact that America was remaining aloof from the war, and no doubt in Dulcie’s eyes that made Wilder and his ilk, who had volunteered to put their lives at risk, and who behaved as though they were something very special because of that, all the more potently dangerous, and challenging to a young woman. Drew might be American but Olive didn’t think she had ever met a more modest and considerate young man.
The night air was yellowy grey with what now seemed like an ever-present pall of smoke from the burned buildings. It felt gritty in the lungs and left behind an unpleasant taste. The occasional car and taxi moved slowly along the road that ran past the church and the vicarage, their dimmed lights just about picking out the white paint on the edge of the pavement, which had been put there because of the high number of road accidents in the early days of the blackout. A bus rumbled past the end of the road. The church hall and, beyond it, the church itself loomed up out of the darkness. Olive’s walking pace quickened as the cold air bit into her lungs.
Normally she would have walked to the vicarage with Nancy, her next-door neighbour, and her husband, but they had gone down to Nancy’s daughter’s in-laws in the country to spend Christmas and the New Year with them. Olive knew that Nancy wasn’t the most popular inhabitant of Article Row, especially with the younger generation, as she was one of those people who seemed to delight in finding fault with others, but they had been neighbours for a long time.
Olive had always got on reasonably well with her, although this last year she had found herself having to bite down on her tongue a bit over some of the things Nancy had said, especially about Sergeant Dawson. Olive liked Sergeant Dawson. He was a kind man – a good man – and Nancy had gone far too far when she had tried to suggest that he might be showing too much of an interest in women without a man to protect them. Nancy had been referring to her when she had said that, warning her, Olive knew, and ever since then she had felt uncomfortable about being in the sergeant’s company on her own. Not because she felt there was any truth in Nancy’s aspersions – she didn’t – no, it was because she suspected that Nancy might be peering round her lace curtains to see if her suspicions were being confirmed.
Poor Sergeant Dawson. They hadn’t had an easy life, he and Mrs Dawson, with losing their son when he had been a young boy, and then Mrs Dawson turning into a recluse because of it.
The vicarage was in front of her now. Olive opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door. The vicarage, the church and the church hall had all been built by the same wealthy merchant who had built Article Row.
Audrey opened the door to Olive’s knock, greeting her warmly,