The Teashop Girls Page 26

  She turned to Silvano. ‘Perfidia?’

  He nodded and raised his baton yet again, leading the band into the first minute of the memorable melody.

  Rose swayed in time to the music, watching as the crowd drifted from the front of the stage, gradually finding their partners and shuffling around the dance floor as much as the packed crowd would allow. Looking out over the audience, she frowned as she caught sight of a figure she recognized . . . Surely not? Was it Ben? She recognized the way he held his back so straight, and . . . So intent was she on looking at the upright army officer’s figure on the far side of the dance floor that she almost missed her cue to start singing the haunting refrain of ‘Perfidia’ – one of her favourite songs of lost love. He was moving through the dancing couples until he stood at the edge of the stage, looking up into her face as she continued to sing.

  How Rose ever remembered the words, she never knew, as her mind went back to the last time she’d seen him, what now felt like an age ago, in the hospital bed, with another woman leaning over to kiss him. After all she thought they’d meant to each other – he had another woman and also children. How could he? she thought, as she continued to sing the haunting melody. She steeled herself for the line she knew was coming, and stared down to him as she reached the part of the song that told of the singer finding her love with another woman. She thought her heart would break as she walked to the other end of the stage to sing down to a couple who, arm in arm, were swaying to the music. It was hard knowing he was there watching her, and it would be oh so easy to finish the song and go to him. But he had a wife, and children were involved. She wasn’t the kind of person to break up a marriage. Not even if it meant spending the rest of her life alone until she was an old spinster.

  When the song finished she slipped from the stage and hurried over towards her friends. She heard him call her name, but rushed through the crowd of dancing couples. ‘Pass me my coat, will you? I’ve just seen Ben and I don’t want to speak to him. I’m going to stay at Captain’s Cottage tonight, if that’s all right with you? Please don’t tell Ben where I’ve gone. I never want to see him again for as long as I live.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Katie said. ‘You’d best come too,’ she said, passing Lily her coat from where they’d been left on an empty seat. ‘I don’t want to be walking the streets searching for you if there’s an air raid.’

  ‘You English women are mad!’ Anya declared as she walked away. ‘We have not yet had the hokey-cokey and you are leaving. Bah!’

  Rose looked up at the sound of tapping on her office door. ‘Come in,’ she called.

  The door was opened by a nervous-looking Nippy. ‘Miss Neville, there’s a policeman to see you,’ she said, before ducking backwards and scuttling away.

  ‘Come along in,’ Rose smiled as the plain-clothes policeman held out his identity card. ‘How can I help you?’ She indicated the seat across the other side of her desk. The distraction was welcome; she had hardly been able to keep her eyes open today, after tossing and turning all night thinking of Ben. How dare he come to the dance and try to approach her?

  ‘I’m Sergeant Thompson,’ the policeman said as he took a seat before opening a notebook, checking what he’d written. ‘I understand you have a Mrs Anya Polinksi working here?’

  Rose’s heart missed a beat. ‘Yes, Anya works here. Please don’t say something has happened to her husband?’

  ‘I know nothing of her husband,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘I’m here to inspect your personnel records and to ask how well you know this woman.’

  ‘Why – what has she done wrong?’ Rose asked, knowing in her heart of hearts that this had something to do with the internment of anyone not born in the country. Rumour had it that foreigners were being rounded up and moved away from Thanet. ‘Do you think she is a danger to people just because she is Polish? I thought the Polish were not only on our side, but their people were fighting with our air force and our army. It would be very inconvenient to have Mrs Polinski removed from my employ at this time, as she is a hard-working and valued member of staff.’

  Sergeant Thompson looked taken aback. ‘Madam, I’m simply updating my records. Between you and me, I’m as concerned about this hounding of foreigners as as you seem to be. My eldest daughter is courting a fine young Polish man who works at Manston. He recently requested her hand in marriage. The wife would be none too happy to see him locked up for the duration. My life would not be worth living if that were to happen.’

  Rose felt herself warm to the sergeant. ‘Would you like a cup of tea and perhaps a slice of cake? It’s no trouble at all,’ she added as she saw him waver. ‘I promise it isn’t a bribe for you to think kindly of our Anya.’ She grinned.

  ‘It would take more than that, Miss Neville. A pork pie at least,’ he laughed as she went to the door and called out to a passing Nippy to take the order.

  Returning to her desk, she folded her hands in front of her and looked serious. ‘I know you are here to ask me about Anya, and I can give you all the details I have about her. Head office has the same information as well, plus a record of her wages. However, if you wish to speak to the people who really know her, you need to visit my mother, Flora Neville, at the Sea View guest house in Ramsgate.’ She quickly scribbled the address on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. ‘Along with some of the residents, my mother can tell you everything about Anya from the day she rescued her to what she had for breakfast this morning.’

  ‘Sea View? That rings a bell . . .’

  ‘It should do. A Mr Cardew was arrested there a few months ago on suspicion of being a spy – and before you say anything, he did not know Anya, and to my knowledge he never spoke to her. He was rather a recluse. You will find all our statements on your files.’

  Sergeant Thompson nodded his head thoughtfully as the tea tray was brought in, and took a cup of tea from Rose before speaking again. ‘Do you know much about Mrs Polinski’s past?’

  Rose explained what she had learnt while living at Sea View. ‘Since taking over as manageress, I’ve been living in a flat here in Margate. Anya travels back to Ramsgate by bus unless she’s offered a lift.’

  Sergeant Thompson raised his eyebrows. ‘Who would give her a lift?’

  Rose gave a small laugh. ‘No one of any importance. Mildred Dalrymple if she was passing, and sometimes one of our delivery drivers if they had a drop-off at the Ramsgate tearoom. You can dig as deep as you like, but Anya Polinski would never endanger this country’s safety.’

  He nodded his head slowly. ‘I’m inclined to believe you – but of course I will have to make the usual investigations, you understand.’

  ‘I do. But perhaps you could do something for me? It would also prove that Anya is not a threat to our country.’

  ‘If I can,’ he said, reaching for a tea plate containing a buttered scone.

  ‘Anya came here to Thanet to look for her husband. She travelled from Poland, where she lost all her family in the invasion, after being told her husband had escaped with the Polish air force. She was told he was at Manston – but for the past few months she’s done nothing more to find him. I feel she has lost her nerve,’ Rose explained, not knowing that she had hit the nail on the head.

  ‘Would you happen to have an idea why she hasn’t tried to make any enquiries?’

  ‘I don’t know. My mother may know more. I know if it was me, I’d be banging on their door wanting to see my husband.’

  ‘Perhaps it is better to travel in hope than to arrive?’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘You could be right there. Knowing he is nearby may be comfort enough. She might be frightened of hearing he has died, I suppose – then she would know for certain she had lost everything.’

  ‘What a situation to be in. What is it you would like me to do?’

  ‘Would you be able to check to see whether Henio Polinski is at the airfield? And if he is, inform him that Anya is here?’

  ‘You understand I ca
n’t go in there asking questions, as I could be locked up and have the key thrown away. However, if during my enquiries he should appear, then of course I will pass on the message.’

  ‘And your daughter’s boyfriend may just know something about him.’

  ‘You are right. He might very well know this young man. You would make a good detective, Miss Neville. Now, if I may see Mrs Polinski for a few minutes to complete my questions, I will then be on my way and leave you to your work,’ he said, glancing to the magazine that lay open on Rose’s desk. It showed an article about American bandleaders that Rose had been reading. ‘I’m partial to a bit of Glenn Miller myself.’

  ‘Mrs Neville?’

  ‘Can I help?’ Flora said as she opened the door a little wider, being prepared to shut it fast if the visitor did not identify himself. It was pitch black without the street lighting, and ten o’clock at night was rather late to be calling.

  ‘I’m sorry to be knocking on your door so late at night. I’m Sergeant Thompson, based at Margate police station,’ he replied, quickly shining his torch towards himself so Flora could see the uniform and also his identity card.

  ‘Oh, please do come in,’ Flora said feeling a little foolish. ‘I’m sorry for keeping you standing on the doorstep like that. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, leading the way through the house.

  ‘Please, there’s no need to apologize. I understand why you would want to know who was on your doorstep at this time of night,’ he said as he sat down at the kitchen table. ‘This is a very cosy room.’

  ‘I think so. Everyone gravitates to this room, even though I have a nice sitting room for my residents,’ Flora said as she too sat down after filling the kettle and placing it on the hob.

  ‘It’s the same in my house – though in our street the front room is hardly used apart from high days and holidays,’ he replied, not mentioning that for most residents the room was also used for laying out the dear departed.

  ‘I’ve heard that’s the case,’ Flora smiled. ‘With Sea View being slightly larger, I’m fortunate to have more rooms. I’ve often thought about moving to a smaller house, as it could be so much cosier and easier to keep clean.’

  ‘It must be hard work,’ he replied as he pulled out his notebook.

  ‘So must yours, to be working at this time of night. What can I do for you?’ she asked as the kettle started to boil. ‘Carry on – I can hear you as I do this,’ she said as she got to her feet to make the tea.

  ‘It’s about one of your guests: a Mrs Anya Polinski.’

  ‘I thought this would happen, what with Anya coming here from Poland,’ Flora said as she warmed the teapot before tipping the water into the sink. ‘I’d bet my last breath on Anya being a good citizen, and will do all I can not to have her sent to an internment camp. We’ve been hearing about such things down at the ARP centre,’ she added as she saw the police sergeant’s questioning look.

  ‘You’re an ARP warden?’ he asked as he made some notes on a clean page of the book.

  ‘I was one of the first to volunteer in Thanet,’ she said proudly.

  Sergeant Thompson tried not to smile. His colleagues were often joking about the team of officious people who did very little apart from checking for chinks of light coming from buildings after dark. They seemed to have a loud voice on the local council, with one of their group known for making dire predictions about what would happen if Germany were to invade.

  ‘I can see you are amused by our work,’ Flora said as she placed a cup of steaming tea in front of him. ‘Help yourself to milk.’

  He apologized before looking through the notes in his book. ‘Your daughter, Rose, seems to be of the same opinion as yourself about Mrs Polinski.’

  Flora stiffened. ‘You’ve spoken to my daughter?’

  ‘Several days ago, when I went into the Lyons Teashop in Margate; has she not told you?’

  ‘We don’t speak very often. She no longer lives here. I’m not sure how I can help you, if Rose has already spoken,’ she said, taking a sip of her tea.

  ‘It was something she said about Anya Polinski’s husband . . .’ He flicked through a couple of pages. ‘Henio Polinski. An interesting name.’

  ‘It’s Polish for Henry,’ Flora said.

  ‘Do you know if Anya has made contact with him since arriving in this country?’

  ‘She’s never spoken of seeing him. I feel that if they had met, I would have been informed. You know she had a terrible time before she left her homeland, Sergeant? It would be so unfair if she were to be taken away from the only people she can call her friends.’

  ‘I’m aware of her circumstances, as your daughter filled me in. I also spoke to Mrs Polinski,’ he added as if he had said far too much.

  ‘Then why ask me? Besides, I thought it was only male aliens you were locking up?’

  He blanched at the directness of her words. ‘I need to fill in a complete profile of the lady, and someone may give me information that another person forgot – or withheld.’

  ‘I can vouch for her, if that would help? I just know that nobody living under my roof could be an enemy of this country.’

  The police sergeant looked up from his notes and stared at Flora. The silence between them was palpable as she realized what she had said. ‘Perhaps we’ll forget you said that,’ he replied.

  Flora got up and busied herself checking the teapot. ‘Would you like another cup?’ she asked, knowing her cheeks were burning red. How could she have forgotten about Mr Cardew?

  ‘Not for me, thanks. So Mrs Polinski, to your knowledge, has never made contact with her husband, or perhaps anyone else . . .?’

  Flora sat back down. ‘No – and I do wish she would contact the powers that be at Manston and enquire. Even write a letter, so she knew for sure that he was safe and well.’ She looked sad. ‘I did ask her about it once, and she said she was afraid that after she had travelled all this way he would reject her. She seems to think he would have seen a new kind of life in the air force, mixing with the toffs who fly the planes. I’ve often wondered why they only pick posh people to fly.’

  Sergeant Thompson nodded, but didn’t say anything. He had often wondered the same thing.

  ‘I wonder. . . . No, it’s wrong of me to ask you to do such a thing.’

  He placed his notebook on the table and looked thoughtful. ‘Were you by any chance going to ask me to find out whether Henio Polinski is based at the airfield?’

  ‘Forget I asked you. It seems an awful cheek. I just thought that if he knew Anya was here, he might come to see her and they’d . . .’

  ‘They’d fall into each other’s arms, and all would be right with the world?’

  ‘Goodness. Whatever made you say that?’

  ‘My wife reads those weekly magazines with the soppy stories inside. She hides them where she thinks I won’t find them.’

  Flora hoped she’d put her copy of My Weekly safely out of the way of prying eyes. ‘Loving someone isn’t always soppy, Sergeant. Anya Polinski deserves happiness after what she’s been through. I’ll ask again. Will you be so kind as to enquire about Henio at the airfield? I did write a letter, but have not received a reply.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Neville. You and your daughter can be quite persuasive, you know.’

  ‘Rose asked you too?’

  ‘She did, and please don’t quote me, but I can’t see what will be achieved by moving Mrs Polinski away from Thanet. I’ll do all I can to put in a good word for her and also enquire about her husband,’ he said, making his thanks for the tea and heading out of the kitchen with Flora following.

  They’d just reached the front door when it opened, and Anya walked in. ‘So, policeman, you come here to arrest me?’ she said, giving him a dirty look. ‘You have nothing better to do with your time than to hound an innocent woman?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Sergeant Thompson blustered, not knowing what to say when caught out by the wo
man he was investigating.

  ‘We are letting out the light,’ Flora snapped, pulling Anya inside and trying to close the door. Before she could say anything else an ear-splitting wail called out into the darkness, getting louder and louder by the second. ‘It’s an air raid,’ she exclaimed, rushing to the bottom of the stairs to call up to Miss Tibbs, Mildred, Joyce and Pearl. ‘Hurry up, ladies,’ she called as doors started to slam closed and footsteps could be heard. ‘You know what to do, but we must all keep together.’

  ‘I must go,’ Sergeant Thompson said, opening the front door.

  ‘No. You are away from your home. I’ll show you where to go,’ Flora said, ushering the residents out in front of her. She picked up a bag she had left in the hall for just such an occurrence, along with a tin helmet with ARP painted on the front. The residents were all carrying bags and blankets.

  ‘Do you have a shelter?’ Sergeant Thompson asked, feeling slightly relieved, as he had imagined for a moment that he’d be driving back to Margate through an air raid. Trust him to be away from home when the first raids hit the town.

  Flora pushed him along the path and out into the street, where they joined crowds of people heading along the road. ‘No, Sergeant Thompson, we are going down into the bowels of Ramsgate. You are about to join us in the tunnels that have been carved out under this town. Follow me – I know the way.’

  15

  August 24th 1940

  Lily shivered and pulled a blanket close around her shoulders. They’d spent many hours in the air-raid shelter at the back of their home in Broadstairs already that day. It had been the same, night after night, for nearly a week. ‘Are you sure it isn’t a false alarm this time?’ she asked. ‘It’s bloody miserable out there in the shelter. We’ve spent so much time down there lately, I’m on first-name terms with the spiders.’

  ‘It’s best we go down,’ Katie said, helping Lily to her feet. ‘I’ve made it as cosy as I can. There are candles, and I’ve made one of those flower-pot heaters we read about in your magazine.’