‘Goodnight,’ he said deeply as she got out in the darkness,and it felt like a significant moment, especially when she found herself unable to reply.
As he headed off again, Sheila turned away into the farmhouse, trying to decide what to do for the best.
Violet was making a suet pudding at the table, and Joe was standing beside her, his arm looped about her waist. The couple were giggling and whispering but jumped hurriedly apart when she came in out of the cold.
‘Evening, Sheila.’ Joe thrust his hands into his pockets, his ears turning pink. ‘You’re back early. Bernie gave you a lift up the hill, did he?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to walk. Not in this weather.’ Primly, her gaze shot to Violet, who instantly bent her head, focused on the suet. ‘Making a pudding, love?’
Violet’s eyes flashed but she said calmly enough, ‘I fancied something stodgy for a change. How was Mr Bailey’s cooking? Or did his fancy housekeeper do everything for him?’
‘She weren’t there, and besides, it don’t matter who cooked what, it was delicious,’ Sheila told her loftily, and drew out the box containing her gift. ‘Bernie gave me this for Christmas.’ Opening the lid, she displayed the gleaming pearl necklace. ‘Beautiful, ain’t it? Though not as beautiful as me, according to Bernie.’ And she couldn’t help beaming, still bowled over by his compliments.
‘Well, I never …’ Violet gasped, staring at the pearls.
Joe’s bushy brows soared. ‘He’ll be asking you to marry him next.’
‘He already did ask, thank you very much, and I said no.’ Sheila winked as the couple gaped at her in silence. ‘For now, at any rate. But I might change my mind one day. It’s a woman’s prerogative, after all.’
After Joe had gone outside to close up the pigsty for the night, Violet set the suet pudding aside in a mixing bowl with a clean damp cloth over the top. She washed her hands, looking round at Sheila thoughtfully. ‘So, you think you might accept him one day?’
Sheila poured herself a cup of tea from the pot, mulling it over. ‘I do like him, Vi. There’s something about the man that …’ She stopped, not sure what she wanted to say, and shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m no spring chicken, let’s face it, and neither is Bernie. If I’m going to marry for a third time, I should probably quit faffing about and get on with it.’ She chewed on her lip. ‘Only I need more time to think about it, and maybe get to know him better. Does that sound daft?’
Violet put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Of course not, Mum. You should do whatever you feel is right.’ She hesitated, releasing her. ‘Though, if you’re interested in our opinion, Joe and I think he’s a nice chap, too. I certainly wouldn’t mind him for a stepdad.’
Sheila was surprised. Violet had always been opposed to the idea of her remarrying, even back when she and Arnie had been courting. ‘You like him, then?’ She frowned. ‘He ain’t nothing like Arnie. Nor your dad neither.’
‘That’s for bloomin’ sure. I loved Dad to bits, but he wouldn’t have known what to say to your Mr Bailey. Though the likes of them two would never have met, would they? Different worlds …’ Violet pulled a face, and checked the pot with the back of her hand before also pouring herself another cuppa. ‘But if you like him, none of that matters. Besides, you could do worse. He’s a proper gent. And life’s too short, ain’t it? We need to grab all the happiness we can before it’s too late.’
‘Talking of happiness, you and Joe seem to be getting on rather better these days.’ When Violet bit her lip, looking embarrassed, Sheila nodded wisely. ‘I’m glad to see it, love. You and Joe had me worried for a while. It’s not right for husband and wife to be forever backbiting. And it weren’t good for Sarah Jane, bless her. Oh, I know she don’t say much, but that little girl sees more than you think … She’s got sharp eyes, that one.’
‘Gawd, don’t I know it?’ To her surprise, Violet didn’t appear offended by this frank discussion of her marriage. Making up with Joe had clearly left her in a mellow mood. ‘She’s quiet on account of being an only child, that’s what I think. But maybe she won’t always be so lonely.’ She flashed Sheila a mischievous smile that reminded her of a younger, more carefree Violet, long before their wartime evacuation to Cornwall. ‘And that’s all I’m prepared to say on the subject.’
Sheila’s heart lightened. ‘Mum’s the word,’ she murmured, and hid her own smile, adding more briskly, ‘You know, we ain’t had suet puddin’ in ages. But it’s just right for this nasty cold snap.’
‘Exactly what I was thinking.’ Violet glanced towards the kitchen window, where a few solitary snowflakes could be seen whirling about in the dark. Outside, they could hear the clank of the pigswill bucket and the muffled tread of Joe’s boots across the snowy yard. ‘All this frost and snow, though … It makes me nervous.’
‘Me too, love.’ Sheila shivered, wondering what the coming new year would bring, and if 1947 would be any better or worse than 1946. Though it would have to work bloomin’ hard to be worse, she thought, cradling her tea to warm her chilly fingers. ‘Me too.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
After asking for directions, Caroline and Grace tramped up through the snow to Lily and Tristan’s sheep farm, perched on a steep hill above Penzance, since there was no chance of getting a bus back to Porthcurno during the cold snap. The young couple lived there with Tristan’s lively, ginger-haired sister Demelza and his huge brother-in-law, Robert. Caroline only knew Lily well, but the company was so relaxed and undemanding, they were all soon on good terms with each other.
Staying there was rather like being back at Postbridge Farm, with sheep huddled on the icy lower slopes, and a hectic, boisterous family atmosphere. Little Morris was constantly toddling about the place, baby Teresa yelling lustily for milk. Lily Minear was also strikingly similar to her aunt Violet in looks, being tall, slender and fair-haired, and of course she shared the same Dagenham accent, so that Caroline found herself accidentally addressing her several times as Mrs Postbridge, which made Lily glare but had everyone else in stitches.
When the two girls had first turned up on the doorstep, they were ushered in by Lily with a surprised smile of welcome.
Demelza too had looked taken aback to find strangers in their cosy front room, but had thawed when Grace offered to look after her little girl Teresa while Demelza finished wrapping some Christmas presents. And her husband Robert had swiftly readied a spare room for them, and produced Christmas cake and ginger snaps, with a small glass of brandy each to warm them up.
‘Stay as long as you need,’ Lily insisted. ‘I’m not surprised the bus was cancelled. The coast road must be a nightmare in this weather. And I’m sure my aunt and uncle won’t miss you, not for a few days at least.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ Grace told her, cuddling Teresa on her knee and making gurgling noises, which the baby seemed to find highly amusing.
‘Is Tristan out with the sheep?’ Caroline asked. ‘Joe’s lost a few because of this cold snap. Has it been bad here too?’
Robert was pulling on his coat. ‘We’ve lost a couple of lambs.’ He kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘Sorry, darling, I need to help Tristan. He’s on the hunt for some stragglers. I’m very glad you’ll be joining us for Christmas,’ he added to the girls, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
‘I like him,’ Grace whispered to Caroline once he’d gone, as they sat listening to Lily and Demelza banging pots and pans in the kitchen. ‘Is he the Quaker?’
