Poppy by Mary Hooper Page B

sister holding on to his arm, had come into the chapel and was looking directly at her. Her smile vanished in an instant, but it was too late – he’d seen her at his brother’s memorial service, smiling .
    Poppy’s embarrassment at her blunder lasted all through the service, which took more than an hour. Lots of people spoke about Jasper: the nanny who the de Vere children had had since birth, Jasper’s schoolmates, far-flung members of his family and several of his tutors. His commanding officer also gave a speech saying that Jasper had saved the lives of two of his men by going out to rescue them under fire.
    ‘Second Lieutenant de Vere displayed great bravery in going back for a third man, but he was hit by a grenade. He was knocked unconscious into a disused trench and lay hidden from his patrol for a day and a night,’ the officer said. ‘He was found and received treatment for a severe leg injury, but, tragically, gangrene had set in and it proved impossible to save him.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’
    A strangled sob came from Mrs de Vere, making Poppy’s eyes fill with tears. When Freddie, his voice thick with emotion, rose to give a eulogy about his brother, Poppy lowered her head and found it impossible to look anywhere near where he was standing. How terrible this war was! And she’d actually sent Freddie a white feather to encourage him to join up. Suppose the feather which had shamed him into joining the army ultimately killed him – how would she feel then?
    At this time, a year into the war, and with so many men dying, the fashion for extravagant funeral rites and services had passed. There was only one concession to a funeral tea: mourners were invited to take a glass of sherry in the chapel vestry afterwards.
    As the service concluded, many of the women began to file out, for the free and easy way that men and women now mixed in London was not yet the way people behaved in the suburbs. Poppy decided that she would go into the vestry, however, for if she didn’t take the opportunity to speak to Freddie, she knew she’d regret it. She needed to find out if what she’d seen in Freddie’s eyes many months earlier – what she thought she’d seen – was real or had been just in her imagination. Even if she made a fool of herself, even if her heart got broken, at least she’d know the truth.
    Waiting at the end of the pew to turn left into the vestry instead of going right with those leaving the chapel, Poppy suddenly felt a hand grasping hers.
    ‘You’re here!’ Molly said, emerging out of the crowd. ‘I wondered if you would be.’
    Poppy squeezed her friend’s hand, delighted to see her.
    ‘But don’t you look grand!’ Molly said, standing back and gazing at Poppy admiringly. ‘Quite the Florence Nightingale.’
    ‘I might look the part, but if anyone here had an accident I’d be quite useless,’ Poppy said. ‘But you!’ She put out a hand and touched Molly’s hair, which was frizzy and quite orange in the front. ‘You’ve changed your hair colour!’
    ‘Oh, it’s from the chemicals at work,’ Molly said. ‘It happens to all of us, no matter how much we try to cover it up.’
    ‘I quite like it. You look like Mary Pickford.’
    Molly giggled. ‘We don’t even bother with headscarves now. Our supervisor said we should be proud of our orange hair and wear it like a badge.’
    ‘War work!’ the two girls said at the same time, and smiled at each other.
    ‘Oh, do come into the vestry with me,’ Poppy pleaded.
    Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘You want to go in there, with the toffs?’
    ‘We have every right. We knew Mr Jasper. Why shouldn’t we raise a glass to his memory?’
    ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Molly said doubtfully. She looked across the chapel. ‘Hardly any of the women are going in.’
    Poppy stepped down into the aisle and tucked her arm into Molly’s. ‘We’re not like