‘As I’ve explained to you a dozen times, my little soirees are essential to our survival, to
my
business plans and to
your
future security. Why are you so
stupid
?’
For once Rose stuck to her guns. ‘Because I only have one pair of hands. Why doesn’t Gertie help more, that’s the question?’
‘I helps a lot, I do,’ came the mumbled response from beneath the bedclothes.
‘Gertie has other duties.’
It was as if something inside of Rose snapped. ‘And we know what those are, don’t we? She’ll lift her skirt for anyone but never lift a finger to help me. The pair of you are worse than useless. You leave me to do everything and it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. I never asked to come and live here, in this big draughty house. I would’ve been quite happy to stay in our old home in Paignton, or to take a smaller house some place, if we’d needed to economise. Nor have I asked you to hold luncheon parties for
my
‘future security’. If I had my way I'd leave this place. I could be doing something far more useful for the war effort than cooking vegetable pie for your
business associates
. I’ll tell you that much for nothing, Eddie Tregarreth.’
Rose was breathless by the time she’d finished her tirade, rebellion spent, as this was the nearest she’d ever come to crossing him. Yet she saw at once that her efforts had been wasted, for all she felt some satisfaction at having expressed her feelings out loud at last. Eddie simply put back his head and roared with laughter.
You help the war effort. Don’t make me laugh.’ He was enjoying himself so much that Gertie emerged from the bed clothes, shrieking with gusto as she wrapped her fat arms about his neck and slobbered kisses all over his face. Eddie grabbed the ample breast pressed up close against him, giving it a lusty squeeze as he pulled Gertie back down beneath him, humped up the bedclothes and began to straddle her. ‘Now my sweet maid, what can I do for you?’
Taking advantage of his distraction, Rose made her escape.
Experience had taught her that any further argument would only made matters worse.
He came to the kitchen later to offer his apologies, which Rose graciously and lovingly accepted. She understood perfectly that he wasn’t quite himself this morning, should have guessed that he might have a bad head. Would he care for coffee? Sadly it was only chicory but better than nothing. He wouldn’t? Water then? An Aspirin? No? Why didn’t he take a stroll in the garden. That might clear his head, and she was sorry that she’d forgotten to run his bath but she was again having trouble with getting the boiler to light.
‘For God’s sake Rose, what have you done to the dratted thing now? Haven’t I told you a hundred times not to riddle it too hard. Don’t you ever do anything right? You do realise they’ll be here in less than two hours. What time will lunch be ready? My God look at you. What a messy creature you are. I hope you intend to clean yourself up and change before they arrive.’
Tucking back a stray lock of hair that had come loose from the tatty bit of ribbon meant to hold it secure, Rose struggled to decide which question to answer first. She decided priority must be lunch. ‘Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to sort out the boiler. Lunch won’t be ready till half past one. You can give them a sherry or something, have your business talk first.’
‘Half past? But we usually...’
‘I don’t care what we usually do. It will be half past one today. Like it or lump it.’ Having offered her an apology, she’d hoped that he would go away and leave her to it, or even that Gertie might emerge to help. No such luck in either case. Gertie was, as usual, notable by her absence and Eddie the very opposite. He hovered at her elbow, instructing her on how finely she should shred the lettuce or slice the cucumber, watching closely every move she made.
Out of the corner of her eye Rose could see Tizz grovelling in her basket under the table. The young black and tan collie dog always trembled with fear every time Eddie appeared and no wonder, even now her brother put out a booted foot and kicked her.
‘For goodness sake, Eddie, leave Tizz alone. She’s done nothing to offend you.’
‘She shouldn’t be here, in the damned kitchen. It’s not hygienic.’
‘She’s doing no harm. You bring more muck in on those boots of yours.’
Even so Rose wiped her hands on a tea cloth, called the dog and led her to out to the wood shed. Tizz, understanding perfectly, made no protest, thumping her tail hard on the ground as Rose explained the situation. ‘You know how he is when he’s in one of his moods. Stay here, there’s a good girl. Just till he’s found somebody else to bully.’ She bent down and rested her cheek against the dog’s face while Tizz snuffled a cold but sympathetic nose into her ear. Rose chuckled softly, fondled the dog’s floppy ears then bolted the door and went back to the kitchen.
Eddie was still there, waiting for her, prowling around the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, telling her which dinner service to use, which cruet, reminding her to polish the wine glasses, to clean the silver as he’d noticed it looked stained when they’d used it the other day. It clearly didn’t occur to him, Rose thought, to pick up a cloth and do it himself.
Cooking in this vast kitchen was a nightmare, with nothing ever where she needed it. She much preferred the tiny lodge house but Eddie always insisted on holding his lunches in the dining room of the main house, using it very much as his own, just as if he had every right to do so. She rather suspected there were times when he and Gertie actually slept in the Master bedroom. Gracie always hoped someone would notice and complain but nobody ever did. The Timber Corps was far too busy with its own affairs to bother, and inspectors from government offices rarely ventured this far west.
She had the sudden, frightening, thought that she’d no flour left for the apple dumpling and ran to the larder to check. The familiar white bag sat on the top shelf and Rose clambered up on a stool to pull it down, sighing with relief to find it almost full. But in getting down from the stool, she somehow managed to drop it and lose almost half of its contents all over the floor.
‘For goodness sake, what are you doing now? Do you have to be so completely clumsy and incompetent?’
Rose snatched up the dustpan and brush and began to sweep, flour billowing everywhere, covering her hair, face and arms in a fine white dust. She could feel the tension mounting inside, tears pricking her eyes. She’d be in need of an Aspirin herself in a moment. Or a double brandy. She went back to peeling the potatoes, hands shaking.
‘You should use the potato peeler, a knife is wasteful.’
‘Why don’t
you
use the potato peeler.’ Making no attempt now to hide her distress and annoyance, Rose thrust the potato into his hand and, snatching up a pan, crossed the vast flag-floored kitchen to the low stone sink, filled it with cold water then brought it back to the table to toss in the rest of the peeled potatoes. He trailed after her, there and back, still clasping the unpeeled potato.
‘Are you sure you’ve done enough. I said six for lunch.’
‘For heavens sake! You’ve got a potato in your hand. Why don’t you peel that, if you’re not satisfied?’
He stared at it as if it were an alien produce that had dropped from another planet. He looked so utterly helpless and forlorn, so boyishly perplexed, that she was filled suddenly with a great wash of love and pity for him. Hadn’t he cared for her almost half her life? Hadn’t he suffered the loss of their parents too? Despite his odd moods, meanness and temper, he was her dear brother after all. The only family she possessed.
True, he’d exhibited some jealousy at the way her parents had spoiled her but then Eddie must have been the age she was now when she’d been born. Just turned seventeen. It must have come as rather a shock to him to be presented with this unexpected sister after being an only child for so long. Rose always took this into account whenever she felt aggrieved by his lack of patience in her.
More importantly, ever since Rose was ten years old, he’d been the only father she’d ever known. She’d depended upon him entirely. So of course she loved him, penny-pinching, selfish, unpredictable and lazy though he might be, she greatly appreciated his care of her, as well as her own good fortune at having lived the last few years in this beautiful place.
Now she smiled fondly and, taking the potato from him, began to peel it with brisk efficiency. ‘You really are hopeless in a kitchen but you’re probably right. I haven’t done enough potatoes.’ Rose peeled, washed and chopped several more and set the pan on the stove to par boil them for five minutes.
She conceded, in all honesty to herself, that there were times when perhaps she should stand up to him more; that he did indeed bully her too much, particularly when he was in one of his sulks, or suffering a hangover, as he was today. Yet wasn’t she in dire need of someone to organise her? Wasn’t he justified in criticising her incompetence? She was indeed inept, and stupid, and ridiculously clumsy. Attacking an onion, she nicked the ball of her thumb in her haste, almost as if needing to prove her point. Blood seeped out all over the white flesh.
‘Drat’. She stuck it quickly under the cold tap, hoping he wouldn’t notice, as it would only result in yet another lecture. Fortunately, Eddie was too busy offering yet more instructions, reminding her to put the gas fire on in the dining room half an hour or so before the guests arrived. ‘The government’s paying the bills and they won’t notice a bit extra on the bill now and then.’
She tried to ignore him but he even trailed after her when she dashed out to the greenhouses, hastily pulling carrots, cutting cabbage and courgettes, plucking suitably ripe tomatoes which she could quickly heat up and easily skin for the pie.
‘Have you remembered to buy fresh flowers? You know I expect the room to be elegantly done out. One can’t have a luncheon party without the correct floral arrangements.’
Rose sighed at the idiocy of this remark, biting back the strong desire to remind him that men years younger than himself were dying every day in France, in Singapore, in Italy, and all he could think to worry about was were there enough flowers for the table. ‘Of course I haven’t bought any flowers,’ she snapped. ‘We grow our own, for heaven’s sake, in amongst all the vegetables. Oh no!’ Rose gave a little cry of distress and, snatching up the bowl of tomatoes flew back to the kitchen. The water was boiling, spitting all over the clean surface of the stove. She made a dive for the pan, grabbed the handle, nearly dropped it again as it burned her fingers; then almost lost the now too soft potatoes as she drained the water away in the sink.
Rose took a deep, steadying breath, deliberately striving to calm herself, knowing without needing to turn around that Eddie would be hovering close by, critically watching every mistake she made. She managed to toss him a careless smile and cheerfully announce that the moment Gertie emerged to help, she’d nip down to the village shop and see if Mrs Conley had a bit of cheese tucked away under the counter. Even the tiniest bit grated on top with breadcrumbs would liven up the taste of any pie.
Now here she was with a broken bicycle and a half demented dog trying to lick her to death. She tried to stand up; cried out as pain shot up her leg. Correction, a broken bicycle, demented dog
and
an injured ankle. Even if there were any cheese left at the village shop, Rose knew that she couldn’t get it home in time. Her only hope was for Gertie to salvage something out of the disaster she’d left in the kitchen. Even so, Eddie would be furious with her and the price she would have to pay for her incompetence, would be high.
Dexter Mulligan did not enjoy his lunch. Seated at the long mahogany table in his expensive, houndstooth check suit, (no utility clothing for him) his trilby hat neatly encircling the plate beside him; his displeasure was all too apparent on the bone-thin face.
Eddie hastened to explain. ‘Sorry about there being no steak. You know how it is with butchers these days. Can’t rely on them.’
The other guests, the Pursey Brothers, never far from his side, and Bob Carlton and Syd Thorpe who were market traders of a sort, tucked into the pie with gusto but Dexter Mulligan stabbed half-heartedly at the mess on his plate and then, complaining that the Woolton Pie was too watery, tipped the whole lot into a cut glass rose bowl standing on the sideboard. Having watched this performance in complete silence, the others picked up their own plates and followed suit.
‘Dear me. What are we thinking of?’ Mulligan mildly remarked, running his finger around the lip of the bowl. ‘That’s no way to treat such a beautiful piece of merchandise. Go and wash it out Syd. You never know what it might be worth.’
‘Don’t worry. Gertie’ll do it later,’ Eddie said, and began to sweat. From the minute he’d seen that hard boiled egg this morning, he’d known the day was going to be a disaster. He’d kill her, he really would, once he laid hands on her. She would choose today, of all days, to let him down, when it was vital he keep his illustrious guest sweet.
Dexter Mulligan was king of the streets. A spiv. The wide boy to see off all others who might lay claim to that title. If there was something - anything - one needed, Dexter Mulligan was the man to find it. At a price. Alternatively he could happily dispose of an item at a nice fat profit. He was a useful chap to know, though not one to cross. In Mulligan’s opinion, if a man couldn’t make money during a war, he wasn’t worthy of his trade. They didn’t come any sharper and Eddie had done quite a bit of business with him in the past year or two, anxious as he was to make a bob or two himself. Eddie had handed over several items that he’d unearthed out of the cellars. Cups and plates and pictures that the Clovellan’s would never miss.