Mike and Maisie made their way out of the theatre and down the steps to a bleak but familiar shelter that had become a home from home for regular theatregoers. The audience grabbed any place that was available for the unticketed performance. The great social equalizer, as Clement Attlee had described life in an air-raid shelter.
‘Not my idea of a date,’ said Mike, placing his jacket on the stone floor.
‘When I was young,’ said Maisie, as she sat down on the jacket, ‘many a young fellow tried to get me down here, but you’re the first one who’s succeeded.’ Mike laughed, as she began to scribble something on the cover of the programme.
‘I’m flattered,’ he said, placing an arm gently around her shoulder as the ground started to shake with bombs that sounded perilously close. ‘You’ve never been to America, have you, Maisie?’ he asked, trying to take her mind off the air raid.
‘I’ve never been to London,’ admitted Maisie. ‘In fact, the furthest I’ve ever travelled is to Weston-super-Mare and Oxford, and as both trips turned out to be disastrous, I’d be perhaps better off staying at home.’
Mike laughed. ‘I’d love to show you America,’ he said, ‘particularly the south.’
‘I think we’d have to ask the Germans to take a few nights off before we could consider doing that,’ said Maisie as the all-clear sounded.
A ripple of applause burst out in the shelter, and everyone emerged from the unscheduled interval and made their way back into the theatre.
Once they’d taken their seats, the theatre manager walked on to the stage. ‘The performance will continue with no interval,’ he announced. ‘But should the Germans decide to pay us another visit, it will have to be cancelled. I’m sorry to say there will be no refunds. German regulations,’ he announced. A few people laughed.
Within moments of the curtain going back up, Maisie once again lost herself in the story, and when the actors finally took their bows, the whole audience rose in appreciation, not only for the performance, but for another small victory over the Luftwaffe, as Mike described it.
‘Harvey’s or the Pantry?’ asked Mike as he picked up the programme, on which each letter of the play’s title had been crossed out and rewritten below, arranged in alphabetical order, A E E I I L P R S T V V.
‘The Pantry,’ said Maisie, not wanting to admit that on the one occasion she’d been to Harvey’s with Patrick, she’d spent the entire evening glancing around the tables dreading the thought that Lord Harvey’s daughter Elizabeth might be dining there with Hugo Barrington.
Mike took a long time studying the menu, which surprised Maisie, because the choice of dishes was so limited. He usually chatted about what was taking place back at camp, or the fort as he liked to call it, but not tonight; not even the oft-repeated grumbles about limeys not understanding baseball. She began to wonder if he wasn’t feeling well.
‘Is everything all right, Mike?’ she asked.
He looked up. ‘They’re sending me back to the States,’ he said as a waiter appeared by their side and asked if they would like to order. Great timing, thought Maisie, but at least it gave her a little time to think, and not about what she wanted to eat. Once they’d ordered and the waiter had left them, Mike tried again.
‘I’ve been assigned to a desk job in Washington.’
Maisie leaned across the table and took his hand.
‘I pressed them to let me stay for another six months . . . so I could be with you, but they turned my request down.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Maisie, ‘but—’
‘Please don’t say anything, Maisie, because I’m finding this difficult enough already. Though God knows I’ve given it enough thought.’ This was followed by another long silence. ‘I realize we’ve only known each other for a short time, but my feelings haven’t changed since the first day I set eyes on you.’ Maisie smiled. ‘And I wondered,’ he continued, ‘hoped, prayed, that you might consider coming back to America with me . . . as my wife.’
Maisie was speechless. ‘I’m so very flattered,’ she eventually managed, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Of course, I realize you’ll need time to think it over. I’m sorry that the ravages of war don’t allow for the niceties of a long courtship.’
‘When do you go home?’
‘At the end of the month. So if you did say yes, we could get married at the base and fly back together as man and wife.’ He leant forward and took her hand. ‘I’ve never felt more certain about anything in my whole life,’ he said as the waiter reappeared by their side.
‘So which one of you is the chopped liver?’
Maisie didn’t sleep that night, and when she came down to breakfast the following morning, she told her mother that Mike had proposed to her.
‘Jump at it,’ was Mrs Tancock’s immediate response. ‘You’ll never get a better chance to begin a new life. And, let’s face it,’ she added, glancing sadly at the photograph of Harry on the mantelpiece, ‘there’s no longer any reason for you to stay here.’
Maisie was about to express her one reservation when Stan burst into the room. She got up from the table. ‘I’d better get a move on if I’m not going to be late for work.’
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that ’undred quid you owe me!’ he shouted as she left the room.
Maisie was sitting on the edge of her seat in the front row when Mr Holcombe entered the classroom at seven that evening.
Her hand shot up several times during the next hour, like a tiresome schoolgirl who knows all the answers and wants teacher to notice her. If he did, he didn’t let on.
‘Could you start coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays in future, Maisie?’ Mr Holcombe asked as they strolled across to the pub with the rest of the class.
‘Why?’ asked Maisie. ‘Aren’t I good enough?’
‘Am I not good enough,’ corrected the schoolmaster without thinking. ‘On the contrary,’ he added, ‘I’ve decided to put you into the intermediate class, before this lot,’ he said, indicating her fellow classmates with the sweep of an arm, ‘become overwhelmed.’
‘But won’t I be out of my depth, Arnold?’
‘I do hope so, but no doubt you’ll have caught up by the end of the month, by which time I’ll have to put you into the advanced class.’
Maisie didn’t respond, as she knew it wouldn’t be too long before she would have to tell Arnold that she’d made other plans for the end of the month.
Once again, they ended up sitting alone together at the bar, and once again he accompanied her back to Still House Lane, only this time, when Maisie took the front-door key out of her bag, she thought he looked as if he might be trying to summon up the courage to kiss her. Surely not. Hadn’t she got enough problems to cope with?
‘I was just wondering,’ he said, ‘which book you ought to read first.’
‘It won’t be a book,’ said Maisie as she placed the key in the lock, ‘it will be a letter.’
30
PATRICK CASEY had breakfast, lunch and dinner in the hotel restaurant on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.
Maisie assumed that he would take her to dinner at the Plimsoll Line in the hope that it might evoke past memories. In fact, she hadn’t been back to the restaurant since Patrick had disappeared off to Ireland. She was right, and it did.
Maisie was determined that she would not be seduced once again by Patrick’s charm and good looks, and she intended to tell him about Mike and their plans for the future. But as the evening progressed, she found it more and more difficult to raise the subject.
‘So, what have you been up to since I was last in Bristol?’ Patrick asked her over a pre-dinner drink in the lounge bar. ‘Not that anyone could miss the fact that you’re running the best hotel restaurant in the city while somehow managing to fit in evening classes at the same time.’
‘Yes, I shall miss all that when . . .’ she began wistfully.
‘When what?’ asked Patrick.
‘It’s only a twelve-week course,’ said Maisie, trying to recover.
‘In twelve weeks’ time,’ said Patrick, ‘my bet is you’ll be the one who’s giving the classes.’
‘What about you? What have you been up to?’ she asked as the head waiter came over to tell them their table was ready.
Patrick didn’t answer the question until they’d sat down at a quiet table in the corner of the room.
‘You may remember I was promoted to deputy manager of the company about three years ago, which is why I had to go back to Dublin.’
‘I haven’t forgotten why you had to go back to Dublin,’ said Maisie with some feeling.
‘I tried to return to Bristol several times, but once war broke out, it proved almost impossible, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t even write to you.’
‘Well, that problem may well be solved in the near future.’
‘Then you can read to me in bed.’
‘And how has your company fared during these hard times?’ asked Maisie, steering the conversation back on to safer ground.
‘Actually, a lot of Irish companies have done rather well out of the war. Because of the country’s neutrality, we’ve been able to deal with both sides.’
‘You’re willing to do business with the Germans?’ said Maisie in disbelief.
‘No, as a company we’ve always made it clear where our allegiances lie, but you won’t be surprised to know that quite a few of my countrymen are happy to do business with the Germans. Because of that, we had a couple of tough years, but once the Americans entered the war, even the Irish began to believe the Allies might end up on the winning side.’
That was her chance to tell Patrick about one American in particular, but she didn’t take it. ‘So what brings you to Bristol now?’ she asked.
‘The simple answer is, you.’
‘Me?’ Maisie quickly tried to think of a convincing way of bringing the conversation back on to a less personal footing.
‘Yes. Our managing director will be retiring at the end of the year, and the chairman has asked me to take his place.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Maisie, relieved to be back on safer ground. ‘And you want me to take over as your deputy,’ she added, trying to make light of it.
‘No, I want you to be my wife.’
Maisie’s tone changed. ‘Didn’t it cross your mind, Patrick, just for one moment during the past three years, that someone else might have come into my life?’
‘Daily,’ said Patrick, ‘which is why I came over to find out if there was someone else.’
Maisie hesitated. ‘Yes, there is.’
‘And has he asked you to marry him?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Have you accepted his proposal?’
‘No, but I’ve promised to let him have my answer before he returns to America at the end of the month,’ she said more firmly.
‘Does that mean I’m still in with a chance?’
‘Frankly, Patrick, the odds are stacked against you. You haven’t been in touch for nearly three years, and suddenly you turn up out of the blue as if nothing’s changed.’
Patrick made no attempt to defend himself, while a waiter served their main courses. ‘I wish it was that easy,’ he said.
‘Patrick, it was always that easy. If you’d asked me to marry you three years ago, I would have happily jumped on the first boat to Ireland.’
‘I couldn’t ask you then.’
Maisie put down her knife and fork without taking a bite. ‘I always wondered if you were married.’
‘Why didn’t you say something at the time?’
‘I was so much in love with you, Patrick, I was even willing to suffer that indignity.’
‘And to think I only returned to Ireland because I couldn’t ask you to be my wife.’
‘And has that changed?’
‘Yes. Bryony left me over a year ago. She met someone who took more interest in her than I did, which wouldn’t have been difficult.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Maisie, ‘why is my life always so complicated?’
Patrick smiled. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disrupted your life again, but I won’t give in so easily this time, not while I still believe there’s even the slightest chance.’ He leant across the table and took her hand. A moment later the waiter reappeared by their side, an anxious look on his face as he looked at the two untouched plates of food that had been allowed to go cold.
‘Is everything all right, sir?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s not.’
Maisie lay awake and thought about the two men in her life. Mike, so reliable, so kind, who she knew would be faithful until his dying day, and Patrick, so exciting, so alive, with whom there would never be a dull moment. She changed her mind several times during the night, and it didn’t help that she had so little time to make her decision.
When she came down to breakfast the following morning, her mother didn’t mince her words when Maisie asked her, if given the choice, which of the two men she should marry.
‘Mike,’ she said without hesitation. ‘He’ll be far more reliable in the long run, and marriage is for the long run. In any case,’ she added, ‘I’ve never trusted the Irish.’
Maisie considered her mother’s words, and was about to ask another question when Stan barged into the room. Once he’d gulped down his porridge, he barged into her thoughts.
‘Aren’t you seeing the bank manager today?’
Maisie didn’t reply.
‘I thought so. Just make sure you come straight home with my ’undred quid. If you don’t, my girl, I’ll come looking for you.’
‘How nice to see you again, madam,’ said Mr Prendergast as he ushered Maisie into a chair just after four o’clock that afternoon. He waited for Maisie to settle before he ventured, ‘Have you been able to give my client’s generous offer some thought?’
Maisie smiled. With one word, Mr Prendergast had given away whose interests he was looking after.
‘I most certainly have,’ Maisie replied, ‘and I would be obliged if you would tell your client that I wouldn’t consider accepting a penny less than four hundred pounds.’
Mr Prendergast’s mouth opened.
‘And as it’s possible that I might be leaving Bristol at the end of the month, perhaps you’d also be kind enough to tell your client that my generous offer will only remain on the table for one week.’
Mr Prendergast closed his mouth.
‘I’ll try to drop by again at the same time next week, Mr Prendergast, when you can let me know your client’s decision.’ Maisie rose from her place and gave the manager a sweet smile, before adding, ‘I do hope you have a pleasant weekend, Mr Prendergast.’
Maisie was finding it difficult to concentrate on Mr Holcombe’s words, and not just because the intermediate class was proving far more demanding than the beginners, which she already regretted forsaking. When her hand did go up, it was more often to ask a question than to answer one.
Arnold’s enthusiasm for his subject was contagious, and he had a real gift for making everyone feel equal and the most insignificant contribution seem important.
After twenty minutes of going back over what he called the basics he invited the class to turn to page 72 of Little Women. Numbers weren’t a problem for Maisie, and she quickly turned to the correct page. He then invited a woman in the third row to stand and read the first paragraph, while the rest of the class followed each sentence word for word. Maisie placed a finger at the top of the page and tried desperately to follow the narrative, but she soon lost her place.
When the schoolmaster asked an elderly man in the front row to read the same passage a second time, Maisie was able to identify some of the words, but she was praying that Arnold wouldn’t ask her to be next. She breathed a sigh of relief when someone else was invited to read the paragraph again. When the new reader sat down, Maisie bowed her head, but she didn’t escape.
‘And fi
nally, I’m going to ask Mrs Clifton to stand up and read us the same passage.’
Maisie rose uncertainly from her place and tried to concentrate. She recited the entire paragraph almost word for word, without once looking down at the page. But then, she had spent so many years having to remember long, complicated restaurant orders.
Mr Holcombe gave her a warm smile as she sat down. ‘What a remarkable memory you have, Mrs Clifton.’ No one else seemed to pick up the significance of his words. ‘I would now like to move on and discuss the meaning of certain words in that paragraph. In the second line, for example, you’ll see the word betrothal, an old-fashioned word. Can anyone give me a more modern example, that has the same meaning?’
Several hands shot up, and Maisie’s would have been among them if she hadn’t recognized a familiar heavy step heading towards the classroom door.
‘Miss Wilson,’ said the schoolmaster.
‘Marriage,’ said Miss Wilson as the door burst open and Maisie’s brother barged into the room. He stopped in front of the blackboard, his eyes darting from person to person.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Mr Holcombe politely.
‘No,’ said Stan. ‘I’ve come to collect what’s rightfully mine, so keep your mouth shut, schoolmaster, if you know what’s good for you, and mind your own business.’ His eyes settled on Maisie.
Maisie had intended to tell him at breakfast that it would be another week before she found out if Mr Prendergast’s valued customer had accepted her counter-offer. But as Stan walked purposefully towards her, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to convince him that she didn’t have the money.