curtains drawn against the night and sipping French wine with a handsome man.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Andrew said.
“Alright.” Maybe not all of them. “I was just thinking how really nice this is. Beats reheated toad in the hole at home.”
“I’ve always liked toad in the hole. Especially when the sausages are all brown and the Yorkshire pudding crispy.”
“You’ve obviously never eaten Miss Millard’s then.” Gloria paused to take another taste of wine. “Her Yorkshire is soggy.”
“Then, Nurse Prewitt, dine with me every night and you’ll never have to eat soggy toad in the hole again.”
“If we came here every night we’d soon be skint and happy to get anything.”
“I’d like to be here every night with you, Gloria.”
Somehow lighthearted suddenly became serious. Thank heaven for the arrival of soup.
“Where did you work before you came to Brytewood?” Better ask questions before he started.
Andrew looked up from his soup and smiled. A nice smile. A very sexy smile. It really wasn’t fair. Why was she so attracted to him when it was a downright risky idea? “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Try me.” He couldn’t have a past stranger than hers.
“Only if you promise never, ever, to say a word of this outside this room.”
“Alright.” What was this deep, dark secret?
“I was in France, in Lyon, training to be a chef. Came back in August of ’39 when things looked really dodgy. I was searching for something to do. I knew the Army wouldn’t have me because I have a heart murmur left over from rheumatic fever as a child. An uncle in the War Office suggested I apply for a job in munitions. I nearly fell over when I found out it was setting up and running an entire plant. I actually told them I wasn’t qualified.
“The old duffers on the interview board didn’t bat an eyelid. Said I’d been a prefect and head of my house at school, so I knew how to organize and get on with people. Since most of the workers would be women, they needed someone who could handle women. I have five older sisters and that presumably gave me that qualification.” He shook his head. “Not that I ever ‘managed’ them. They all bossed me around mercilessly from the time I was in nappies.”
The way he said it showed he loved them, bossy or not. Gave her a little pang for what she’d never had. Or had there been others? Sisters? Brothers? She’d never know.
“So, on strength of those very flimsy qualifications and, I suspect, a whole lot of favors owed to my illustrious uncle, I got the job. And I’m nowhere near as incompetent as I feared. I have munition engineers and designers who handle all the technical stuff. I just keep it going smoothly, as best I can. My biggest headache—and this is between us, you have to swear.”
She nodded. “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made the old playground gesture.
“Is my Deputy: Williams. Ninety-five percent of worker problems are because of his hamhandedness. I swear he lives to stir up trouble. I know he resents me being younger and makes snippy comments about public schools. He can’t stand that I went to Winchester and he went to some high school in the Midlands. As if it mattered in the middle of a war, but it does to him.”
“I know him. He’s been sick a lot recently.” Peter had mentioned it in one of their meetings.
Andrew nodded. “Yes. Lost weight, even fainted a couple of times on the job. You’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a nasty piece of work. Still, I didn’t bring you here to talk about Jeff Williams.”
Nor her. The man gave her the willies. He had nasty leering eyes and the way he’d paired up with Miss Waite’s creepy nephew didn’t add anything to Williams’s allure. “You’ve led an interesting life. Did you really want to be a chef?”
“Very much, upset my parents no end. They wanted me to be a barrister, but my marks in my Upper Certificate were pathetic. I’d never get into one of the Inns of Court. So they sent me to Oxford, to Dad’s old college: Exeter. I so distinguished myself at cricket and rugby, I failed to get my degree. That did upset them. Should have really. I’d wasted their money and three years of my life. They had this big family confab—my sisters came home for it—on ‘what do we do about Andrew?’ You wouldn’t believe some of the lunatic proposals. Well, I thought they were lunatic.” Again that lovely smile.
She was not getting seduced by a smile.
“Seems the only thing I’d done that met with unanimous approval was getting really good marks in French on my Higher. So they decided to make a linguist out of me. I insisted on the chef bit. I’d been over there five years. Worked in two hotels and a restaurant and clawed my way up from vegetable chopper and general dogsbody to trainee sous chef. The war really scuppered my plans, but I thank old Uncle Stephen for getting me this job. If not they’d probably have me parachuting into France because I can speak the lingo and between us, Gloria, I’m terrified of heights.”
“I’m glad you’re here and not behind lines.” Or worse, in a prison camp like Alice’s brother.
“I’m glad I’m here too, Gloria. Very, very glad.”
His gladness gave her a dry throat. Soup helped. So did a few gulps of wine.
“You’ve had my none too illustrious life history, how about yours?” She’d been dreading this. “You grew up in Reigate, your parents died and you became a nurse.” Not quite in that order. “What happened in between?”
She took another gulp of wine. Not that it would help—the reverse probably—but to buy her time to decide how abbreviated a version she could get away with.
As she set her glass back down, the air raid siren let out a long, piercing wail.
The stooped waiter paused to speak to a couple at another table, before making his way to Gloria and Andrew. “I’m sorry, sir and madam, but it appears we are under attack. We have made provision for our guests down in the cellar if you would please bring your gas masks and follow me.”
Gloria hadn’t waited for that obvious information. She was already standing on one foot and struggling with her coat. Andrew was around the table helping her and handing her her crutches. Her gas mask was at home. Too bad at this point.
The cellar entrance was through the kitchen. The young officers were already down there for the bar evacuated first.
Gloria gave one look at the steps, called out “Watch out, I’m throwing my crutches down,” sat on the top step and bumped down. So much for dignity and Alice’s borrowed silk stockings. She’d have to replace them somehow.
At the bottom, one of the young officers helped her to her feet and another handed her her crutches.
Andrew was right on her heels. She was glad he was there. Just being close to him make her feel safe. Or as safe as one could with the prospect of Heinkels and Messerschmidts overhead.
As the last people descended, Andrew bagged a corner with an old sofa. Not exactly luxury and comfort but it was better than her Anderson shelter in the garden. She didn’t have Andrew’s arm around her out there on her own either. War brought a few small pleasures.
Chapter Six
The Pig and Whistle might be a ridiculous name, but Bloch could forgive it, given the reception he received.
“So you’re Mr. Block,” the fat landlord said with a smile. “Welcome to Brytewood, and what may I get you?”
For this he’d been well briefed. “A pint of bitter, please.”
The landlord held a heavy glass mug under the tap and slowly filled it with rich amber liquid, easing the pressure to form a head,