them.
I seem to have overstayed my welcome with this letter, as it will take up your time, but it’s wonderful to be able to indulge in correspondence unconnected to business. Please don’t worry about the boys. I shall make it my goal to ensure that they are occupied and out of trouble. It will be my pleasure to bring you to Willows as often as possible. I may change horses if you have a carter, and I can pick up Nero in exchange for the borrowed horse when I return you to base. There may be a shortage of petrol, so it’ll be back to horses and carts for all of us.
He reread the whole letter, wondering whether he had gone too far in mentioning how pretty she was. It had been the same with Annie, God bless her. One encounter, and he’d been lost. And here he was, twenty years older and wiser, two decades dafter, with a fool in bed upstairs. No matter what went on around him, no matter which piece of work he was tackling, Eileen was there in his mind, right at the front where business should sit. So where was the real fool? Upstairs or here, sweating over a letter?
The answer entered the room. In striped pyjamas and work boots, Jay Collins looked as mad as a spring hare. ‘I’m just . . . er . . . the lav.’ He walked out through the kitchen.
Life, Keith told himself, was weird. One minute he felt like weeping, and the next he was practically doubled over at the sight of his handyman in boots and sleepwear. Was Keith the pregnant one? Were his hormones in turmoil? ‘Perhaps I’m having an early menopause. I must tell the quack about my poor nerves.’
Jay returned. ‘Bloody raining now,’ he muttered as he climbed the stairs.
The rain was the last straw. As mirth rose in his throat, Keith Greenhalgh damped the fire, turned off the lamps and went upstairs. It was time for bed. He had given up on today; it was a hopeless case . . .
Five
‘We could decorate a Christmas tree with that grin of yours, Eileen Watson. It’s all the letters, isn’t it? They’ve been coming through that door by the sackful. I seen you stood there yesterday with a gob on because there was no letter.’ Nellie sighed like a ham on stage. ‘Isn’t love wonderful? Ooh, I can see it now, hand in hand through buttercups and daisies, tossed over the wall by a bull, landing side by side in a cowpat. Lovely.’
Eileen shrugged and changed irons, setting the cool one to heat near the fire, picking up the hotter one and spitting on it to make sure it sizzled. ‘Stop it, Mam. You’re getting on my nerves, so give it a rest. He’s just a nice fellow, a decent man. It’s good to hear about the place where you’ll be staying with our three musketeers. I see that stain came out of our Philip’s shirt.’
‘And you’ve gone red.’
‘So? What are you, counsel for the Crown Persecution? Because that’s what this is, Mam. It’s perse-bloody-cution. Would you rather I went a nice shade of green?’
‘Well, it would suit, seeing as you’re half Irish.’ Nellie wandered off for a brief segue down a different avenue. ‘She’s give you some lovely clothes. Funny, isn’t it? When she wore them, they looked dowdy. You look like a film star in Hilda’s stuff. It’s that figure of yours. She’s straight up and down, but you’re curvy.’’
Eileen continued to iron her children’s clothes. They were lucky, because Miss Pickavance had kitted them out with decent stuff for their evacuation. They had strong boots and good trousers, and they even had pyjamas. Some kids round here slept in their school clothes for weeks on end, no vests, no underpants, no breakfast. She felt guilty about those who wouldn’t get the chance of evacuation, which was why that side of things was being left firmly in Hilda’s court. And Hilda was coming out of herself while searching for candidates, so it was a good thing all round.
‘He’s handsome, I’ll give you that. One of the best-looking blokes I’ve seen in a long time. Lovely head
I seem to have overstayed my welcome with this letter, as it will take up your time, but it’s wonderful to be able to indulge in correspondence unconnected to business. Please don’t worry about the boys. I shall make it my goal to ensure that they are occupied and out of trouble. It will be my pleasure to bring you to Willows as often as possible. I may change horses if you have a carter, and I can pick up Nero in exchange for the borrowed horse when I return you to base. There may be a shortage of petrol, so it’ll be back to horses and carts for all of us.
He reread the whole letter, wondering whether he had gone too far in mentioning how pretty she was. It had been the same with Annie, God bless her. One encounter, and he’d been lost. And here he was, twenty years older and wiser, two decades dafter, with a fool in bed upstairs. No matter what went on around him, no matter which piece of work he was tackling, Eileen was there in his mind, right at the front where business should sit. So where was the real fool? Upstairs or here, sweating over a letter?
The answer entered the room. In striped pyjamas and work boots, Jay Collins looked as mad as a spring hare. ‘I’m just . . . er . . . the lav.’ He walked out through the kitchen.
Life, Keith told himself, was weird. One minute he felt like weeping, and the next he was practically doubled over at the sight of his handyman in boots and sleepwear. Was Keith the pregnant one? Were his hormones in turmoil? ‘Perhaps I’m having an early menopause. I must tell the quack about my poor nerves.’
Jay returned. ‘Bloody raining now,’ he muttered as he climbed the stairs.
The rain was the last straw. As mirth rose in his throat, Keith Greenhalgh damped the fire, turned off the lamps and went upstairs. It was time for bed. He had given up on today; it was a hopeless case . . .
Five
‘We could decorate a Christmas tree with that grin of yours, Eileen Watson. It’s all the letters, isn’t it? They’ve been coming through that door by the sackful. I seen you stood there yesterday with a gob on because there was no letter.’ Nellie sighed like a ham on stage. ‘Isn’t love wonderful? Ooh, I can see it now, hand in hand through buttercups and daisies, tossed over the wall by a bull, landing side by side in a cowpat. Lovely.’
Eileen shrugged and changed irons, setting the cool one to heat near the fire, picking up the hotter one and spitting on it to make sure it sizzled. ‘Stop it, Mam. You’re getting on my nerves, so give it a rest. He’s just a nice fellow, a decent man. It’s good to hear about the place where you’ll be staying with our three musketeers. I see that stain came out of our Philip’s shirt.’
‘And you’ve gone red.’
‘So? What are you, counsel for the Crown Persecution? Because that’s what this is, Mam. It’s perse-bloody-cution. Would you rather I went a nice shade of green?’
‘Well, it would suit, seeing as you’re half Irish.’ Nellie wandered off for a brief segue down a different avenue. ‘She’s give you some lovely clothes. Funny, isn’t it? When she wore them, they looked dowdy. You look like a film star in Hilda’s stuff. It’s that figure of yours. She’s straight up and down, but you’re curvy.’’
Eileen continued to iron her children’s clothes. They were lucky, because Miss Pickavance had kitted them out with decent stuff for their evacuation. They had strong boots and good trousers, and they even had pyjamas. Some kids round here slept in their school clothes for weeks on end, no vests, no underpants, no breakfast. She felt guilty about those who wouldn’t get the chance of evacuation, which was why that side of things was being left firmly in Hilda’s court. And Hilda was coming out of herself while searching for candidates, so it was a good thing all round.
‘He’s handsome, I’ll give you that. One of the best-looking blokes I’ve seen in a long time. Lovely head
Similar Books
