at Sally. ‘Sally, this is …’ she hesitated and then continued, ‘the … original owner of the ring.’
‘Former owner,’ said the young man, holding out his hand to Sally. ‘Jonathon Galbraith, or just Jon is perfectly fine.’
‘Sally Brewer, Just Jon.’ Sally, surprised by her nonchalance, blushed furiously.
He smiled and, for the first time in her life, Sally was aware of how much a smile can change appearance. At first sight, Just Jon had been austere, controlled. She would have guessed that he was twice her age but now ten years melted away as quickly as light snow melts under a winter sun. ‘Miss Brewer, I’m just about to rejoin my ship so it’s a happy chance that we should meet here.’ He looked around and obviously came to a decision. ‘Would you have time to have coffee or tea with me? It would only take a few minutes and I really would like to thank you for trying to return the ring.’
‘I’m on my way …’ began Sally, but he already had his hand under her elbow. ‘I won’t keep Miss Brewer too long, ladies,’ he said with another charming smile as he propelled Sally out of the shop.
A few minutes later they were seated at a table in a nearby café, and had ordered tea, which was just as well, for apart from cocoa, tea was almost all the café served.
‘The ring is in the safe at the cinema, Mr Galbraith, and my father will give it to you as soon as you ask him.’
‘No, I don’t want it, Miss Brewer. Sell it, if you don’t like it.’
The waitress put the cups on the table so forcibly that tea spilled over into the saucers. She did not apologise.
‘Everything in the world’s going to pot right now,’ Jon said as he dried Sally’s saucer with a clean handkerchief. ‘I believe Fedora’s told you that I bought the ring for my wife because she liked it. Now my wife no longer wants me or anything to do with me and has sailed for America, I think – she always wanted me to take her there – or possibly she has returned to Malta where her family live. She has not done me the courtesy of telling me. I will not tell you what she said I might do with the belongings she chose to leave but I assure you that the ring is yours.’
Without warning he changed the subject. ‘Maudie tells me you are to study acting.’ He stopped and, for the first time, really looked at her. ‘I know you find this entire scenario distasteful, Miss Brewer, but I do thank you for trying to return the ring.’
‘But of course I needed to return it. It was the proper thing to do.’
Sally had not really paid attention to what he was saying. Instead she was looking at him, this man she had only just met but who had featured in her thoughts. She could not remember what she had thought he might look like, but she knew, somehow, that he looked just right.
She liked fair hair, like that of her friend Daisy’s brothers, but now knew that brown hair was perfect especially when matched by brown eyes that revealed sadness. She knew little about uniforms but enough to know that this was a naval uniform. The markings told her that Just Jon was an officer, probably of fairly high rank. She felt sad as reality struck her. She had just met him. How unlikely it was that she would ever see him again.
He clasped his hands and put them lightly on the table. ‘It is yours,’ he said again, ‘and I’m happy to sign a letter confirming that. If you’ve fallen in love with it, then enjoy wearing it. But my advice would be to sell it; it might make years of study more comfortable.’ He sipped his tea while he watched Sally think about what he had just said and then he stood up. He held out his hand and Sally stood and put her hand in his. She felt a tremor. Was it her hand or his? ‘Again please accept my apologies for my inexcusable rudeness. I should have been congratulating you on your honesty – God knows I’ve seen so little of it lately.’ Still he held her hand as he looked into her eyes. ‘May I wish you all success in your endeavours. I look forward to seeing your name in lights, Miss Brewer.’
‘Thank you, Mr Galbraith.’
He smiled and again his face changed. ‘Do you know, I rather like being Just Jon.’
Sally blushed. ‘I was rude,’ she began.
‘No,’ he drew out the syllable. ‘You were enchanting. On this exercise I shall remember a beautiful girl calling me Just Jon.’
Then, as his gaze continued to hold her own and she saw admiration in his eyes, she suddenly felt shy and had to look away.
At the door he turned and raised his hand in farewell. ‘Don’t change, Sally Brewer.’
And he was gone, leaving payment for their tea discreetly beside his saucer.
Sally sat down for a moment, her mind and body in turmoil. Maudie, not Maude; they must know each other very well. An aunt, perhaps. No, she’s not … not like Fedora. A strange and unrecognised thrill of excitement made her shiver. Just Jon, what have you done to me? She stood up, hoping that her legs would continue to hold her upright. Fortunately, they seemed to have recovered from the shakiness they had exhibited under the small table and she walked quite easily from the café.
Just Jon.
Jon. Somehow that small word seemed to Sally the most perfect possible name for a man. The images of the delightful Sebastian that always seemed to be at the very front of her brain had somehow been replaced – and so suddenly – by the image of a man she had seen once. Again, she felt a pang of real pain. No, that could not be. What on earth had happened to her? Was this what so many of those wonderful films she had watched repeatedly as an impressionable teenager had led her to believe lay in store? One day she would meet a man and fall headlong into everlasting love. This man? He was not as tall as Sebastian but somehow he looked stronger. The width of the shoulders perhaps? Sebastian was beautiful. Jon was not. There was too much strength there for beauty, plus power, and an easy air of command. The film magazines would have called him handsome. Sebastian too, had a lovely voice but it did not set her pulses racing as a few minutes’ conversation with Jon had done. Somehow she knew that his voice would echo in her sleep.
Sally shook her head and hurried back towards the shop but then she decided that she was incapable of having a sensible conversation with the two ladies and so she changed direction and walked towards the park.
From the days when they had first been allowed to play without adult supervision this had been a favourite place for Sally and her close friends. They had loved strolling around the vibrant flowerbeds, or lying on the meticulously mown lawns talking of everything and nothing. Many plans had been hatched here and some of them had even come to fruition. Now Sally walked but the park no longer gave her the solace it had once so easily dispensed. How could she have forgotten the changes war had caused? Where there had been beds of glorious roses, there were now trenches. Sally looked up at the sky and her heart, which had been beating happily only a few seconds before, almost stopped in terror. Any second a German aircraft – Dartford residents knew the names and could recognise most of them – a Heinkel or a Messerschmitt, could come screaming out of nowhere, and if she was not killed immediately she might just have time to jump into one of the trenches.
‘Stupid, stupid Sally,’ she said aloud and turning, ran as quickly as she could out of the park and home.
Life was not always the film with the happy ending but today, her last day at home for some time, had brought something very special and she would allow nothing, not even fear of an air raid, to spoil it.
She acted, quite perfectly, the part of ‘happy girl who has had one of her dreams come blissfully true’.
She found her mother rehanging the blackout curtains in the front room.
‘Mum, they’re black. Washing them so often is just making work for yourself, but you’ll never guess what happened!’ She waited for a response and none came. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, I won’t guess so tell me.’
‘I’m in …’ Sally could scarcely believe what she had been about to say and quickly recovered herself.