Cory saved the day by starting to sing a jolly sailor song to the strains of Hamil’s fiddle.
Then Bette persuaded Hamel to liven up the tempo even more, pushing back the rugs so that they could dance. They all had a marvellous time, save for Hugh, who went off upstairs, and Sadie snoring happily in the corner, rather the worse for wear after a glass or two of Hugh’s finest sherry.
To Sara it was a relief to have the pub closed for the day, and her family gathered about her. Yet a part of her mind wondered how Charles and the other GIs were managing, so far from home.
The moment the festivities were over, Charles Denham was back in her kitchen to thank Sara for all her effort. He felt that all their hard work had been worthwhile, giving the children a Christmas to remember.
‘And you were splendid.’
Sara chuckled. ‘The problem is that I think I did rather too well. I’m now in charge of fund raising for War Weapons week, or Salute the Soldier, as it is to be called this year? What have I let myself in for?’
‘Excellent! I’m delighted, because it means I’ll see much more of you. I’m sure we can find some way for me to be involved with all of that too.’
They looked at each other and Sara could think of no reply to this. What was he implying? She didn’t dare to think. She turned abruptly away to slide a fresh tray of pasties out of the oven.
‘Those smell delicious.’
‘Do have one.’
‘No, no, I wasn’t begging . . .’
‘Of course you were. Here, take one. I shall have one too, since it’s lunch time. Plonk yourself on that stool and I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘What about – your husband? Won’t he mind?’
‘He’s at one of his brewery meetings, or else one of his training sessions, of which there have been quite a lot lately. Iris and Sid are running the bar. Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be glad of the company.’
In the event they sat on the doorstep, enjoying the pale winter sunshine while they munched their pasties and sipped hot, strong tea. There was no conversation, simply a feeling of mutual contentment. When they were finished, he turned to her with a smile, brushing away a few crumbs.
‘I can’t remember when I last enjoyed a meal so much.’
‘It was only plain, home cooking.’
‘That’s what was so good about it.’ He was looking down at her but with no hint of his usual smile. ‘I really should be going, and I’m sure you have better things to do than feed hungry soldiers.’ He got to his feet, but, as was often the case, seemed reluctant to actually go.
‘You miss your wife, don’t you?’ Sara felt she should say something, try to show sympathy and encourage him to talk in case he was feeling homesick. Besides, it was occasionally necessary to remind herself that the woman existed, but he dropped his gaze, avoiding her eyes.
‘Not quite so much as I should, perhaps. She was always there, you know, always a part of my life and yet . . .’ He sat down again, cleared his throat. ‘May I ask you a very personal question, Sara. I can call you Sara, can’t I? I mean we’re buddies now that we’ve both packed presents for Santa together, right?’
Sara smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘And you must call me Charles, or Charlie, as my friends back home call me.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I could do that.’ She found herself blushing at the very idea. It was true that they’d become friends through working together, yet she still felt strangely shy with him.
‘Try it. I’m just an ordinary guy underneath all this fancy uniform, these buttons and ribbons and spit and polish. I’d just like to hear someone call me by my given name, instead of addressing me by rank or number, Sir or Lieutenant. Then I’d know that I was still a real person.’
She looked at him consideringly. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Charlie. You can understand that, Charlie .’ He was grinning now, teasing and challenging her to do as he
Then Bette persuaded Hamel to liven up the tempo even more, pushing back the rugs so that they could dance. They all had a marvellous time, save for Hugh, who went off upstairs, and Sadie snoring happily in the corner, rather the worse for wear after a glass or two of Hugh’s finest sherry.
To Sara it was a relief to have the pub closed for the day, and her family gathered about her. Yet a part of her mind wondered how Charles and the other GIs were managing, so far from home.
The moment the festivities were over, Charles Denham was back in her kitchen to thank Sara for all her effort. He felt that all their hard work had been worthwhile, giving the children a Christmas to remember.
‘And you were splendid.’
Sara chuckled. ‘The problem is that I think I did rather too well. I’m now in charge of fund raising for War Weapons week, or Salute the Soldier, as it is to be called this year? What have I let myself in for?’
‘Excellent! I’m delighted, because it means I’ll see much more of you. I’m sure we can find some way for me to be involved with all of that too.’
They looked at each other and Sara could think of no reply to this. What was he implying? She didn’t dare to think. She turned abruptly away to slide a fresh tray of pasties out of the oven.
‘Those smell delicious.’
‘Do have one.’
‘No, no, I wasn’t begging . . .’
‘Of course you were. Here, take one. I shall have one too, since it’s lunch time. Plonk yourself on that stool and I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘What about – your husband? Won’t he mind?’
‘He’s at one of his brewery meetings, or else one of his training sessions, of which there have been quite a lot lately. Iris and Sid are running the bar. Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be glad of the company.’
In the event they sat on the doorstep, enjoying the pale winter sunshine while they munched their pasties and sipped hot, strong tea. There was no conversation, simply a feeling of mutual contentment. When they were finished, he turned to her with a smile, brushing away a few crumbs.
‘I can’t remember when I last enjoyed a meal so much.’
‘It was only plain, home cooking.’
‘That’s what was so good about it.’ He was looking down at her but with no hint of his usual smile. ‘I really should be going, and I’m sure you have better things to do than feed hungry soldiers.’ He got to his feet, but, as was often the case, seemed reluctant to actually go.
‘You miss your wife, don’t you?’ Sara felt she should say something, try to show sympathy and encourage him to talk in case he was feeling homesick. Besides, it was occasionally necessary to remind herself that the woman existed, but he dropped his gaze, avoiding her eyes.
‘Not quite so much as I should, perhaps. She was always there, you know, always a part of my life and yet . . .’ He sat down again, cleared his throat. ‘May I ask you a very personal question, Sara. I can call you Sara, can’t I? I mean we’re buddies now that we’ve both packed presents for Santa together, right?’
Sara smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘And you must call me Charles, or Charlie, as my friends back home call me.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I could do that.’ She found herself blushing at the very idea. It was true that they’d become friends through working together, yet she still felt strangely shy with him.
‘Try it. I’m just an ordinary guy underneath all this fancy uniform, these buttons and ribbons and spit and polish. I’d just like to hear someone call me by my given name, instead of addressing me by rank or number, Sir or Lieutenant. Then I’d know that I was still a real person.’
She looked at him consideringly. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Charlie. You can understand that, Charlie .’ He was grinning now, teasing and challenging her to do as he
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