In Love and War (10 page)

He rose to his feet, holding out a chair for her. ‘Thank you for coming, Anthea. I see you've brought old Tubby with you.'

‘Less of the old,' Tubby said, grinning.

‘We're an odd number, Algy,' Marianne said, looking round. ‘I thought you'd invited one of your eligible bachelor friends?'

‘I did and he's just arrived.' Algy waved to a man who was threading his way through the crowd. ‘I invited Guy Gifford. He's a good chap, but he keeps himself to himself. I thought this might bring him out of his shell. He doesn't seem to have much of a social life.' He moved towards him holding out his hand. ‘Guy, old chap. Glad you could make it.'

‘I didn't realise it was such a formal party, Algy.' Guy cast an anxious eye over the men's evening dress. ‘I came straight from the office and didn't have time to change.'

Elsie sensed his discomfort, even though he hid it well. Marianne's friends had been charm itself, but she still felt like the odd one out.

‘Never mind, old chap. It's my fault; I should have put you straight.' Algy slapped him on the back. ‘I think you know everyone, except this lovely young lady, who's a friend of Marianne's. Elsie Mead, Guy Gifford.'

‘How do you do?' Elsie was not sure whether etiquette required her to shake hands with a strange man, but she held hers out.

‘How do you do?' Guy shook her hand and his features were transformed by a charming smile. Elsie warmed to him instantly. No one could call him handsome, but he had nice eyes. She could not decide whether they were brown or hazel, and his softly waving hair was a shade between dark blond and warm chestnut. He was the sort of man it would be easy to walk past in the street, but his smile would be hard to forget.

‘There's an empty chair beside Elsie.' Algy patted Guy on the shoulder. ‘Sit down and have a glass of bubbly.'

‘It's nice to see you again, Guy.' Marianne turned to Algy, holding up her empty glass. ‘Top-up, please, darling. It is Christmas and we have to enjoy ourselves. It's compulsory, especially in wartime.'

‘You do talk a lot of rot, Marianne,' Anthea said, chuckling. ‘I'd like to dance. How about it, Tubby?'

‘Of course, my dear. Only too happy to oblige.' He rose to his feet and led her onto the dance floor.

Guy sat down beside Elsie. ‘This isn't really my sort of thing, as you might have guessed.'

‘It's not mine either.'

He seemed to relax and the tension lines on his forehead smoothed out. ‘That makes me feel much better. Would you like to dance, Miss Mead?'

‘It's Elsie, and you might be sorry you asked if I tried to do this one. I used to go to dances in the village hall, but it wasn't anything like this. It's a foxtrot, isn't it?'

‘Actually I think it's a one-step.' He stood up, holding out his hand. ‘Let's try, shall we? To tell the truth I'm not very good on the dance floor either.'

Surprisingly, and probably because there was not much space in which the couples could perform, Elsie managed to follow Guy's movements without treading on his toes and she began to enjoy herself. She was about to walk back to their table when the music finished, but the orchestra struck up again almost immediately, and Guy tightened his hold on her hand.

‘This is one I can do without fear of harming anyone. Shall we show them how it's done?'

‘Why not?' This time she found herself clasped to his chest as they twirled round to the strains of a Viennese waltz.

‘You're a very good dancer, Elsie.'

‘I'm just following whatever you do.'

‘That's what makes you a good dancer. You make me feel that I'm good at it too.'

She looked into his eyes and smiled. ‘I was dreading this evening, but I'm glad I came now.'

‘Me too.'

She was suddenly serious. ‘But I had promised to attend a party in the East End for the Belgian refugees. I feel very bad about letting them down, although I don't suppose they'll miss me.'

‘It's a worthy cause. How did you get involved?'

‘I'm an interpreter.'

‘I'm impressed. Do you speak French and Flemish?'

‘My mother was French and it was my first language, but I don't speak Flemish.'

‘And you obviously enjoy your work.'

‘Yes, I do, and I admire the people we try to help. They're wonderfully resilient and brave, especially when you think that they've lost everything and had to leave loved ones behind.'

‘Would you like to go to the party for your Belgian friends?'

‘I would, awfully.'

He stopped in the middle of the dance. ‘Then that's what we'll do. This overt hedonism doesn't seem right in the face of what others are suffering at the moment.'

‘You want to come with me?'

‘I wouldn't dream of letting you venture into the East End on your own at this time of night. Shall we go?'

THE CHURCH HALL
was situated in a grimy East End back street. Elsie felt distinctly overdressed for the occasion as she stepped down from the hackney carriage. The rain had ceased but the wet cobblestones were slicked with faint pools of oily light from the gas lamps. The door opened and a woman emerged carrying a sleeping child in her arms. Elsie recognised her at once and stepped forward. ‘You're leaving the party early, Jeanne,' she said in French.

The woman nodded and gave her a weary smile. ‘The little one is tired. I'm taking him back to the lodging house.'

‘Is everything all right? Have you all you need?' Elsie studied the woman's face. She looked pale and drawn and there were dark shadows underlining her eyes. ‘Have you eaten today?'

‘Yes. I have no complaints.'

‘You look exhausted.'

‘It's hard with young children, but we will manage. God permitting we will be able to return home before too long.'

‘Amen to that.' Elsie patted her on the shoulder. ‘Get the little one home, and I'll call on you soon. You must let me know if there is anything I can do to help.'

‘Thank you.' Jeanne cast a sideways glance at Guy and walked away.

‘You're doing a difficult job,' he said, holding the door open for her. ‘But I suppose it has its rewards.'

‘At least I'm doing something worthwhile, although I wish I could do more.' Elsie entered the building and her nostrils were assailed by cigarette smoke, the hoppy aroma of beer and a curious mixture of hard-boiled eggs and pickled onions. One look at the table laid out with the food was enough to convince her that the volunteers had done their best, but it was hardly up to Frascati's standards. They had not stopped to dine, although she had seen people eating delicious-looking food, which in itself seemed wrong when others were starving. She was hungry, but she did not want to take food from the mouths of people whose need was far greater than her own. The fare might be plain but it seemed to be going down well with the partygoers. The children in particular were digging into the rather stodgy-looking cake, and the sausage rolls were disappearing fast. The vicar came forward to welcome them. He eyed Guy curiously. ‘I see you've brought a friend, Elsie.'

‘Mr Gifford was kind enough to escort me, Joe.' She pulled her coat round her to hide Marianne's expensive evening gown, even though it was hot and stuffy in the crowded hall. ‘We were at another Christmas party.'

‘I understand, my dear. There's no need to feel awkward. I'm sure our Belgian guests wouldn't begrudge their good friend an evening of relaxation. Why don't you take your coat off and have a glass of punch? There's not much alcohol in it but it's quite palatable.' He turned to Guy. ‘May I get you a glass of beer, Mr Gifford?'

‘Thank you,' Guy said affably. ‘A beer would be most welcome, and it's Guy.'

‘John Johnson.' The vicar seized Guy's hand and shook it. ‘But everyone calls me Joe.' He strolled off in the direction of the makeshift bar.

Elsie waited until he was out of earshot. ‘I'm sure you didn't mean that.'

‘Actually I prefer beer to champagne, and even if I didn't I would not want to offend the good vicar. He's obviously doing his best to look after his adopted flock, and it can't be easy.'

‘He's a good man,' Elsie said, nodding. ‘And his wife is an excellent woman. She works tirelessly for the poor and needy and this is not a rich parish. I admire them both tremendously.'

‘One thing puzzles me, Elsie,' he said slowly. ‘Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't understand your relationship with Marianne. You two may have a passing physical resemblance but you are complete opposites.'

‘Marianne is a good friend,' Elsie said defensively. ‘She's been kind to me since my mother died last summer.'

‘I didn't know. I'm sorry.'

‘Thank you. I'm coming to terms with it now, but it was a terrible shock.' She glanced down at the expensive dress in pale pink chiffon embroidered all over with glass bugle beads, created no doubt by a fashionable designer. ‘This isn't the real me, Guy. I borrowed this gown from Marianne. I was a lady's maid and then I took over my mother's job, charring at Darcy Hall. That's how I know Marianne. I'm not one of her set.'

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Neither am I, come to that. I have a fairly menial position in the War Office, and I was a grammar school boy. Tubby and Algy are old Etonians.'

Elsie was about to answer but a group of children had spotted her and they abandoned the food table to cluster round her. She laughed, urging them to speak one at a time and returning hugs from the younger ones while paying due attention to their older siblings. Guy sipped his beer, and even though she sensed that he was watching her she felt comfortable in his presence. She looked up and smiled at him over the children's heads, but before she had a chance to say anything her attention was claimed by several of the mothers who wanted to talk to her.

In the end it was the vicar's wife who came to her rescue. She spoke in rapid French to the group who had gathered around Elsie, and somewhat unwillingly they dispersed. ‘Miss Mead will be back after Christmas,' Mrs Johnson said firmly. ‘Enjoy the party, ladies. And children, you must leave some cake for everyone else. We don't want you being sick all night or crying with tummy ache.'

Joe returned, having separated two boys who were fighting and made them shake hands. He embraced Elsie warmly. ‘Thank you for coming to join us tonight, my dear. These poor souls must gain comfort from the fact that someone cares enough for their welfare to abandon their own Christmas party in order to spend time with them.'

Elsie realised that she had allowed her coat to fall open, revealing the evening gown. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't want to show off, and it's not mine, Joe. It's borrowed.'

He smiled. ‘Don't apologise, Elsie. You're young and you have every right to enjoy yourself. Don't you agree, Guy?'

‘I do indeed, but I'm not really part of this. I feel that I ought to go, but I don't want to leave Elsie without someone to escort her home.'

‘Of course you must go if you want to, but I'm staying,' Elsie said firmly.

‘It's a rough area,' he said in a low voice.

‘Don't worry, Guy. We'll make sure that Elsie gets a cab back to Cromwell Road.' Joe turned to his wife. ‘I think you should take your place at the piano, my dear. The older children will hopefully wear off some of their energy by dancing.'

‘Of course.' Mrs Johnson smiled and patted Guy on the arm. ‘Don't worry about Elsie. She'll be quite safe with us.' She made her way to a rather battered-looking upright piano at the far end of the hall, next to which stood a spindly Christmas tree decorated with paper streamers and tinsel.

‘I think I'd like to stay if that's all right with you, Joe.' Guy proffered his arm to Elsie. ‘Perhaps we should start the dancing. At worst it will provide entertainment for everyone else.'

‘Splendid idea.' Joe moved towards the centre of the floor, dispersing a group of children who looked as though they were about to start a wrestling match. ‘Take your partners, please, ladies and gentlemen.'

‘And children,' a small voice piped up.

Joe looked down at the small girl and smiled. ‘Yes, Claudette, and children, but there will be no fighting or hair pulling. I will deal strictly with any wrongdoers.'

At a signal from her husband Mrs Johnson began an energetic rendition of the Maple Leaf Rag. ‘We'll do the one-step,' Guy whispered. ‘We're pretty good at that.'

Elsie abandoned her coat and allowed him to lead her into the centre of the floor. She could feel the blood rushing to her face as all eyes were upon them. ‘They seem to think we know what we're doing,' she murmured.

‘Let's show them then.' Guy gave her an encouraging smile and waited for the beat. ‘Here we go.'

Encouraged by a round of applause they started to dance and suddenly the floor was crowded with couples, but there were not enough men to go round and the remaining women partnered each other, which caused a great deal of mirth. The children joined in with boundless energy and the rafters rang with Scott Joplin's lively music and the sound of laughter. The dance ended and everyone clapped their hands, calling for more.

Joe rushed up to them, grinning broadly. ‘This is fantastic. To see everyone forgetting their plight even for a few minutes is utterly wonderful.' He waved to his wife. ‘Encore, my dear. Encore.'

Obediently Mrs Johnson launched into a polka and by the time it ended everyone was breathless and in need of refreshment, including the pianist herself. Elsie took her a glass of punch. ‘You are a very talented musician.'

Mrs Johnson drank thirstily. ‘Thank you, but I'm very out of practice.'

‘No one would ever know it, and they're all having a wonderful time, thanks to you and your husband.'