He grabbed my hand rather roughly and dragged me away, Silvie running behind.
We sprinted down the lane and across the fields to the hop pickers’ huts, dashing into Tom’s and shutting the door behind us. Laughing, we opened the envelope and took out all the money.
All the money!
There was so much of it! “Where did she get it from?”
“I don’t know,” Tom whispered.
“Come on, let’s have a party,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll go and see if the farmhands in the barn have some biscuits or milk.”
“I’ll come, too,” Tom said. “Look after the money, Silvie.”
Off we ran, Tom beating me by a fraction, although I hadn’t been racing at all. But the place was deserted, and after a spot of searching we quickly realized there wasn’t anything to be had.
I was just checking one last corner, when Tom decided to grab me around the waist, pulling me to him and planting a rather soggy kiss right on my lips.
“Stop, stop!” I yelled, thrusting him away. “Don’t you know I’m engaged to be married?”
“No, are you?” He laughed in a disbelieving way, wiping his mouth.
Silvie was suddenly there, innocently inquiring, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, Silvie.” I took her arm and walked to the door. “We couldn’t find any biscuits, so we’ll have to go without, won’t we, Tom?”
He came up beside us and took my other arm, grinning in an annoying way, and we strode back to the huts.
When we got back, Tom’s door was hanging open, squeaking as it swung to and fro.
“Silvie, did you bring the envelope?” Tom said.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
We ran inside to check for the money, but I think we already knew.
It was gone.
There was no sign of anyone, but we looked at each other, knowing who must have followed us. Silvie and I went sulkily back home, leaving Tom to work out what he was going to say to Miss Paltry.
“Well, at least it wasn’t our money,” I said as we rounded the wood.
“Why didn’t you kiss Tom?” Silvie asked. “He’s nice.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “I am engaged to Henry, Silvie. I can’t go around kissing hop picker boys, can I?”
How could she possibly think otherwise?
CHILBURY MANOR,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Thursday, 8th August, 1940
Dear Angela,
A dull feeling of dread lurched in the pit of my stomach when I woke up this morning, as if I knew how the day would evolve, what events would take place, what decisions would be made.
The doorbell rang at ten, and I wasn’t surprised when Mama knocked on my door to tell me that Henry had come again. I knew straightaway that I wanted everything to be different from yesterday. I didn’t want his sympathy or his comments on me looking, how did he put it, “lost.” So I put on my yellow sundress to make me look more cheerful and brushed my hair until it shone golden. I wanted him to treat me the same as he’d always done, as if nothing had changed. As if everything were exactly the same as it had been six months ago, and I was the undisputed empress of the village.
I looked at myself in the mirror and put on my old red lipstick, feeling encouraged by the transformation. Isn’t it extraordinary how one can look like an empress yet feel like a frail shadow?
He was sitting on the same settee as the other day, immaculate in his uniform. I tried to make an entrance, like I would have done before all of this, swinging my yellow skirt so that it cascaded around the door frame, raising my hand alluringly up to my hair, jeering loudly, “Oh, Henry. I see you simply couldn’t stay away.”
But it all felt a little flat and overrehearsed.
He stood up and stiffened, although still smiling in a polite way. Henry is always polite—I can’t work out whether it’s adorable or tedious. I stopped swishing my skirts and struggled to work out what my approach should be. I was self-conscious, wanting him to adore me as he always has done, yet not really wanting him to. I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense, Angie. I confess it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either. I really don’t know what to think anymore.
“How are you today?” he asked, coming and taking my arm and leading me over to a chair, as if I were an invalid.
“I’m fine, Henry,” I muttered, lifting his hand away and standing beside the settee. “Look, let’s please not talk about me today. I’d much rather hear about you and your plane and how many dogfights you’ve won.” I looked up at him beseechingly, and he gazed at me for a moment, and then he smiled gently, tilting his head slightly to one side.
Then he lowered himself down on one knee.