The Darkest Hour

‘Dolly never throws anything out,’ Charlotte commented tartly. ‘If she did we might have a bit more room.’ She rammed a vivid blue stem of delphinium into the vase.

Mike stood up and watched her for a moment, amused. ‘You don’t have to attack the poor flowers. You’ll find they surrender quite easily if you push them in gently.’

She swore under her breath. ‘They might surrender to you. They are out to get me! I am not the domesticated type, or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘I’d noticed.’ He laughed.

She glanced up at him suspiciously. ‘You sounded as though you meant that.’

‘I did.’

There was a split second’s silence. He reached over and touched her hand. ‘I don’t go out with you for your domestic skills, Charley, and you know it!’ He caught her fingers as she reached for a rose and swore. ‘You can snip off the thorns, you know. Then you won’t get pricked.’

She sighed. ‘So, who taught you that? I know. Don’t tell me. Evie. Right?’

He gave a rueful nod. ‘She loved flowers.’

She found the card on the dresser propped against a jar of peppercorns and for a moment she held it in her hand, staring down at it, studying the small sketch of the shop front, the elegant italic script, the name The Standish Gallery, and on the back the name, hand-scrawled in ballpoint. Lucy Standish. Her brow was furrowed in thought. He was looking the other way. She could drop it down the back of the line of old cookery books and it would be gone forever. She pictured the woman’s shadowed, melancholy face and straight dark hair and gave a small satisfied smile. Was there any danger? None at all.

‘Mike.’

He looked up and she held out her hand. He grinned and took the card. ‘Glad one of us is organised.’ He reached for the phone. She watched as he waited for the call to connect and registered by the slight slump of his shoulders that it had gone to voicemail.

‘Hello Mrs –’ He paused and looked at the card. Then he turned it over to where she had written her name on the back. ‘Mrs Standish, this is Mike Marston. I’ve been thinking about our discussion the other day and I was wondering if you would like to come over here again so we can work out some modus operandi. I’m sorry for the delay in contacting you. I’ve been rather busy.’ He looked at Charlotte and winked. ‘Give me a call. You have my number here.’ He hung up.

‘Have you given her your mobile number as well?’ Charlotte queried.

‘No. She rang the house when she first got in touch. Better that way, then she can speak to Dolly.’ He stood for a moment looking round the kitchen. ‘Your idea of putting Evie’s stuff in the studio will take an awful long time. Hadn’t we better make a start?’

He walked through into the sitting room and surveyed it rather hopelessly. ‘There is such a lot. I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Why not leave it to Dolly and me?’ Charlotte brought in her vase of flowers and put them down on a side table. She stood back to admire the effect. ‘We could go to the supermarket now and collect some cardboard boxes. In fact, after this weekend, why don’t we leave the whole thing to Dolly, then as you suggested Mrs Standish can come over during the week when we’re not here? We don’t want to waste our precious weekends.’ She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and carefully blotted a drop of water which had fallen onto the table from the rose petals. ‘You have told Dolly what you plan to do?’

‘Well,’ he hesitated.

‘Oh, Mike!’

‘I did hint at it, just to test out her reaction.’

‘And what did she say?’

Mike gave a rueful smile. ‘Quite a lot, actually.’

5 (#ulink_3d46aa53-fc8e-51f8-a76c-be9e792f6b82)

August 22nd 1940

It was Ralph who introduced them properly. He finally persuaded Evie to go with him to the pub.

‘Eddie is more like a slave driver than a –’ he was saying as they climbed into his car. He drove an ancient cream three-wheeler Morgan which was his pride and joy. He stopped suddenly mid-sentence and she looked at him quizzically.

‘Than a – ?’ she echoed.

‘I was going to say boyfriend,’ he said at last.

‘Is he my boyfriend?’ she repeated softly. ‘Yes, I suppose he is. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like him.’

‘I never said that.’

‘You don’t have to.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Dear Rafie, I can read you like a book. Daddy doesn’t like him either. Not really. And you’re right, he does make me work hard and just occasionally, yes, I do feel a bit put upon, and yes, I would like to go to the pub with my big brother.’

It had been a hard week. Tangmere had been targeted and it had received several direct hits. Parts of the aerodrome had been reduced to a mass of rubble. Many planes had been lost when the hangars were destroyed. There had been nonstop sorties as the waves of attack came over, but a blessed interval of quiet followed. It had been a baptism of fire for the new squadron at Westhampnett. There had been no night raids here, however, although everyone expected them soon, and a night off for a jar and some female company seemed like a really good idea for the exhausted pilots and ground crew alike.

Ralph took her to The Unicorn in Eastgate Square, a favourite with the pilots. The pub was noisy and very crowded. It was stuffy and hot inside and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. He bought Evie a drink, then they ducked out through the blackout curtains which hung over the door of the lobby and went to stand on the pavement outside. Within minutes a group of young men in RAF uniform had joined them.

‘So, Ralph,’ the voice behind Evie was cheery, the accent Scots, ‘are you going to introduce me to the lady?’

Evie turned, the half-pint glass in her hand slopping shandy over her shoes.

‘Hi, Tony.’ Ralph slapped him on the back. ‘Evie, this is Tony Anderson. One of the boys from Westhampnett. Tony, my sister, Evelyn.’

‘Your sister!’ Tony echoed with a huge grin. ‘Wow!’

Ralph smiled happily.

Evie scowled. ‘What he means is, we have met before. Flying Officer Anderson ruined one of my pictures.’

‘Oh, come off it. It was hardly ruined,’ Tony exclaimed. ‘A wee bit of dust, that’s all.’

‘A wee bit of dust, as you called it,’ Evie repeated, repressively, ‘can destroy a picture if the paint is still wet.’

‘True.’ Tony nodded thoughtfully with a wink at the bemused Ralph, ‘but you were only doing some quick pencil sketches. I remember most particularly.’

Evie gaped at him. ‘You noticed?’

‘Of course I noticed. To make amends, I will buy you a drink. But that is all,’ he added severely. ‘I will not grovel for the rest of my life.’

Evie stared after him as he headed towards the door and vanished into the smoky interior of the pub.

Ralph laughed. ‘So, you two have met before.’

Evie nodded. ‘But I am not going to let it spoil my evening.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Ralph raised his glass as another group of RAF officers headed their way. ‘Let’s see if we have more success here. Have you met my flight commander?’

By the time Tony threaded his way back through the crowds with Evie’s glass in his hand she was engaged in animated conversation with Alan Reid. Tony elbowed his way to her side and pushed the glass towards her. ‘Thanks.’ She took it and turned back to Al with a smile.

‘Evelyn!’ Tony called out. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard.