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  Her ill temper deepening, while her younger daughter banged about in the kitchen boiling kettles and making tea, Sadie continued to berate her unassuming husband, needing to prove her superiority, making it plain what she thought of him and all of his sex.

  ‘I’ll be off then,’ Bette said, the minute she’d handed over the filled thermos, edging out of the door before her mother started to nag her about taking a coat, which she certainly didn’t need on this lovely autumn evening and would only be an encumbrance.

  ‘I’ll walk along with you,’ Cory hurriedly added. ‘Since I’m going that way meself.’

  ‘Then you do look him over, this soldier, and give him a piece of your mind,’ ordered Sadie, then stood at the door and continued to issue instructions in increasingly loud and stentorian tones as her husband and daughter hurried off along Passage Street, ever quickening their pace, desperate to be out of earshot.

  As they approached the slip-way by the Riverside Hotel, Cory made his excuses to Bette. ‘You don’t need your old dad playing Peeping Tom, now do you? I’ll nip in here for a swift half with old Hamil afore we go out on the water. But you do mind what your ma tells you, d’you hear?’

  ‘I will, don’t worry.’

  And having satisfied himself that he’d done his duty, Cory disappeared inside to “wet his whistle” with his mates, before going off on patrol.

  He looked gorgeous in his smart uniform, even taller and broader than when he was high above her on the vehicle; so big and handsome with his hair cut short and his cap set at a dashing angle; the shirt and trousers neatly pressed, showing all his muscles and a fascinating bulge in the latter. Bette averted her eyes, feeling herself start to blush at her own daring thoughts.

  Oh, but she wasn’t for giving up on her dream, even if her mother’s had gone sour. As luck would have it, the war seemed to have offered her a new opportunity to pursue it. A chance to escape had fallen right into her lap, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

  ‘Hey, there you are. I wasn’t sure you’d come. I’ve been standing here watching sweethearts come and go, feeling kinda lonely. And the smell of those French fries are sure making me hungry. Fancy some?’

  ‘I certainly would, but they’re called fish and chips.’

  ‘Okay, fish and chips it is,’ he said, trying out the new phrase, and they both laughed.

  Chad Jackson, as this brawny American introduced himself, might not exactly be the answer to a maiden’s prayer, but he certainly had everything required in the looks department. Even so, Bette was determined to choose carefully, to be astute enough to vet him carefully before things went too far. She sought status, good manners, and that vital and all important ingredient of life, money, which counted most in the end. Bette meant to go places, not spend her life working flat out, as her soft sister did.

  This particular marine had made a good impression so far. Unlike the British Tommy, who generally expected a girl to pay for her own supper, Chad happily paid up without demur, and they sat on a bench to enjoy a bag of cod and chips each, relishing every delicious mouthful.

  ‘How you all manage to live on wartime rations, I can’t imagine. We had something called brown Windsor soup for lunch, followed by tasteless sausage, lumpy mash and horrible little green balls with some foreign name or other.’

  Bette giggled. ‘Brussel sprouts. It’s true there’d be very little meat in the sausage but you have to appreciate how long we’ve been suffering this war. And I love sprouts. They’re good for you.’

  ‘You’re sure welcome to them, honey. Hey, I do understand that you must be starved of stuff after all you’ve had to endure. What you’re in need of is some of my momma’s home made apple pie. Failing that, you’ll have to settle for a little tender loving care. Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all on her lonesome.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ The accent might be different but the chat up lines were much the same.

  Yet his gaze was openly admiring, sending little shivers of excitement running down her spine, and Bette did so love to be admired.

  ‘Now why don’t you show me this little old town of yours, and maybe I’ve got something in my pocket that you might like?’

  Bette managed to look shocked, firmly informing him that she was a decent girl and what did he take her for?

  ‘Hey, don’t take offence, I only meant these,’ and he handed her a packet of silk stockings.

  ‘Oh, Chad. Oh, how wonderful! I can’t remember the last time I wore a pair of stockings, and real silk.’ She never had worn stockings, silk or otherwise, never in all her life since she’d been only sixteen when war began and such treats quite beyond her.

  ‘Maybe you’ll wear them for me some time, huh?’

  Bette hastily changed the subject, feeling perhaps this was all going rather fast. ‘Where do you live then, in America? San Francisco? New York?’ These were the only two places she knew of.

  He laughed. ‘Naw, a little place somewheres in the Appalachian Mountains, way south of New York, and Washington DC where President Eisenhower lives, ya know? Jest in a ways from what we call the Eastern Seaboard, from Charleston and Savannah. Me and Barney, we both hail from that neck of the woods. We joined up together and managed to stay in the same unit. I’ll introduce you some time, you’ll like Barney. Real screwball but the best friend a guy could have. Been together right through school in a two-bit town nobody’s ever heard of. I guess you wouldn’t have heard of it either, so ain’t no use in telling you no names.’

  ‘No, of course not, sorry.’ She was dazzled by the thought of anyone living so close to the president, bemused by the strange names he’d mentioned, and Bette didn’t understand what he meant by two-bit, assuming it to be meaningless American slang. ‘I’ve heard about Times Square and the Empire State Building.’

  ‘Hey, you’re well informed, honey.’

  ‘I’ve seen it at the pictures. I love going to the pictures, do you?’

  ‘Aw, the movies, I love ‘em. If you ever come to America, I’d love to take you to New York, up the Empire State, and to Hollywood, then you could see where movies get made.’

  ‘Would you really?’ Bette looked into his eyes, entranced, and Chad felt his throat tighten as he gazed back down at her.

  She was even lovelier close to than she’d appeared that morning from the truck, when he’d fallen for her hook, line and sinker, at first sight. But what was he thinking of making such promises? How could a dumb country boy like him ever hope to take her to those fancy places? He’d never had much luck with girls in the past as they generally fell for Barney’s dark, Italian looking charms, giving his own more homely features scarcely a glance. Not that he minded, he was real proud to be Barney’s best buddy and there never was any animosity between them.

  Maybe he was doing better with this chick because he was spinning her a bit of a yarn, not lying exactly, more stretching the truth somewhat, taking a leaf from his friend’s book. Barney was usually the one to shoot his mouth off but it generally won him the girl, so where was the harm? She was cute as a bug’s ears, this one and he just needed to be someone for once, instead of a nobody. Still, best not to get too carried away and overdo it.

  ‘Not that I live anywhere near Hollywood, you understand, but it sure is pretty. We got mountains and lakes, woods and deep ravines, hot springs and gushing falls, Indian reservations and real fine houses that were built way back before the civil war. Ante-bellum, we call ‘em. Hey, we got it all.’

  Bette’s sense of history was scant, but she shivered delightedly at the prospect of Indians, captivated by the romance of his descriptions. ‘And that’s where you live is it, in one of these fine houses? How wonderful!’

  Chad gazed into her enchanting, golden-green eyes and couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. ‘Well, it sure ain’t a bad house, nor small neither. My family has lived there for a generation or two, that’s fer sure.’ He slid an arm around her waist, anxious to stop all this chat and get down to business.<
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  Bette slid away, further along the bench, teasing him with her smile as she sucked salt and vinegar from her fingers, determined to make every effort to be sensible and practical and concentrate on essential details, as she’d promised herself that she would. ‘So what is it you did, exactly, before you joined the marines?’

  Chad got up, collected the used chip papers and went to stuff them in a nearby waste bin, his thoughts racing. He’d worked on the family farm before the war, like many another southern boy, though that had never impressed a gal yet, so why take the risk of being too honest with this one when he was doing so well?

  ‘I guess you could say that I’ve got me some land in Carolina. You ever been to North Carolina? No, course you ain’t. Like I say, prettiest place on God’s earth, just like you’re the prettiest woman I ever did see.’

  ‘Land, but I thought you said that you lived in a fine big house in town?’

  He was growing confused by his own lies now and mumbled that there surely was a town close by, but Bette was persistent.

  ‘And is it a big town, where you live, with cinemas and big fancy shops and such like?’

  ‘We live a ways out of town,’ Chad admitted, carefully avoiding answering her question in too much detail, wishing that he’d kept quiet and not tried to impress her at all. ‘But I’d love to show you Athens and Charleston and Savannah. Real fancy towns, they are,’ he rushed on, eager to please and see her smile once more. ‘After that, Hollywood here we come, huh? Boy, I love those eyes of yours. Are they gold or green, I jest can’t make up my mind.’

  He snuggled closer and Bette giggled some more. He really was sweet and the names sounded magical, very much like something out of a movie. ‘Oh, that would be marvellous. I’d so love to travel.’

  ‘Jest as soon as this little old war is over, honey, we’ll see the world together, meanwhile . . . how about that tour you promised me, huh?’ He offered her his arm with sweet, old-fashioned courtesy.

  They strolled together along to Whitehouse, Bette feeling very special and important to be out with such a gorgeous guy, one who lived in such an exciting place, not too far from the President of the United States himself, and a land owner at that, just like the Cornish gentry. If that didn’t prove he was rich, she really didn’t know what would.

  Having reached the tiny little beach, they sat huddled in among the rocks, while they had a bit of a kiss and cuddle. Admittedly there was a Pillbox nearby, and ships in the river, but Readymoney beach was too far away and embroiled in barbed wire, so this would have to do.

  If they kept their heads down, nobody would spot them in the darkness, and with the silk stockings safely stowed away in her bag, how could she refuse?

  He was certainly bold, cheekily fondling her breast without the slightest invitation, and never had she known such an expert kisser. Bette was growing dazed with emotion and quite breathless, beginning to worry about how far she should let him go when suddenly there came a great bang out on the water and she nearly jumped out of her skin with shock.

  ‘What’s that? Oh, my God, have the Germans attacked? Are they bombing us?’ She was ready to run, instantly trying to decide whether it was quicker to dash to the shelter on Lostwithiel Street, or down to the Butter Market. Or maybe Pophyry Hall would be safer if she could get there in time.

  Chad was on his feet in a second, peering into the black dark that blanketed the wide river. ‘Hey, don’t fret. That wasn’t big enough for a bomb. Just a stray shell going off, I reckon. There’s a boat out there though, quite a small one.’

  ‘It’s the river patrol. Oh lord, that’s my dad’s boat. He’s dead. I know it. Oh, my God, no!’

  Chapter Four

  Cory Tredinnick and his crew had set out in their boat as soon as they’d downed a few pints, ready to carry out their role on the water rather as their comrades, the Local Defence Volunteers, or Dad’s army as they were more popularly known, did on land.

  ‘Do ‘ee remember when the Home Guard sank the boat that was towing the target upriver, that time they were practising shooting?’ Cory remarked with a chuckle.

  The river valley and creeks of Fowey were well defended, as they provided a relatively secure place to hide munitions which the enemy would more likely expect to find in Plymouth, surely never thinking to look in this secret, wooded hideaway.

  ‘Daft clucks, the lot of ‘em,’ agreed Sid Penhale. ‘Our river patrol is much more skilled.’

  The docks, from where the ammunition was shipped and the china clay dispatched, were guarded around the clock, with nobody allowed in without a pass. There were guards stationed in the Pillbox at Whitehouse, and Albert Quay had tank traps across the centre with barbed wire along the seaward edge, as did many of the beaches. In addition, at St. Catherine’s, closer to the mouth of the river, there was a gun point, and one on the opposite side at Polruan.

  ‘And better prepared for the invasion,’ put in Hamil Charke.

  They all solemnly nodded in agreement.

  Temperatures had dropped considerably after a warm day, and a slight mist rose from the water, glowing with an eerie ghostliness in the light from a pale moon. Scobey, as usual, was on the tiller and the rest of the crew dipped in their oars and rowed with a rhythm which spoke of long practise. All were expected to keep a look-out for unwanted intruders, and for any stray mines. At least that was the general idea but, as usual, it was Scobey who spotted it first. It was floating in the water, but, instead of calling out and warning everyone, he leaned right over and picked it up.

  ‘What you got there, m’boy?’ asked Sid, the more alert of the crew.

  ‘I do reckon it be a shell,’ said Scobey, holding the offending article in his hand.

  ‘What sort of a shell would that be, ‘xactly? Mussel or scallop?’

  ‘The sort that goes boom,’ said Scobey, giving his gap-toothed grin.

  The silence in the boat following this statement was palpable, and had anyone dropped a pin, they’d have heard it for sure across the water in Polruan. Though as things turned out, the calm and quiet was perhaps a good thing since it gave Scobey time to think on what he’d just said, and every drop of blood seemed to drain from his face, leaving it as waxy and pale as the moon.

  ‘I do reckon,’ said Hamil, in a carefully composed tone of voice, ‘That you should put that back, d’rekly.’

  ‘I think ee might be right there, m’boy.’

  And so he did, except that instead of setting it gently back where he found it, in the water, Scobey flung it with all his might at some nearby rocks that jutted out into the river. The explosion broke the largest rock in two, sending the major portion of it catapulting into the water which, coupled with the force of the blast, created such a wash that it rocked and near overturned them.

  The men clung to each other, and the boat, with grim and terrified determination; Hamil and Cory having a few choice words to say in the process. Even as they roared their disapproval at Scobey’s hair-brained stupidity, they suddenly became aware of a strange phenomenon.

  ‘What’s this? I do believe it be raining fish,’ said Cory, as a mullet dropped into his lap.

  ‘Will you look at that! Scobey must’ve hit a shoal.’

  He had indeed, and a good one at that, judging by the number of monkfish, sea-bass and sea-trout that flopped into the little boat.

  ‘Well, it do save us the trouble of going fishing in the morn.’

  ‘Aye, and saves on coupons too, that’s for sure,’ said Scobey, well pleased with their catch. Their stroke of good fortune would be sufficient to feed all their families, friends and neighbours, for days to come.

  It was Nora Snell’s idea that some of the fish be used to hold a welcome party for the newcomers. Nora wasn’t particularly well known for her generosity but even she couldn’t cope with this bounty, and she always enjoyed showing off her husband’s prowess, considering the stick he got just because of his misfortune to have a slight squint. Nora, however, did not want th
e bother of organising the event herself but was past-master at organising people, and since she naturally needed a venue in which to hold it, who better to ask than Sara Marrack?

  She cornered her the very next morning outside Varco’s wet fish shop, the proprietor of which wasn’t best pleased by this competition, even though he’d agreed to take a few off her hands.

  Sara was startled. ‘Goodness, I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask. Besides, I don’t think there’d be room at The Ship, do you, Nora? We’d need somewhere much bigger.’

  Nora wasn’t for letting Sara off the hook quite so easily and chewed over this problem in silence for a moment or two. ‘You could always ask the mayor if we could use the Town hall. I’d do it meself only I have enough on my plate, d’you see, cooking the fish. And we’d have to do it quick, afore they go off. Tomorrow, at the latest. Besides, those boys do deserve something special to show they’m welcome.’

  Sara lapsed into deep thought. Nora was right for once. It would be good to offer some sort of welcome party. And if, at the back of her mind, she felt a twinge of hope that it might also offer her the opportunity to see a certain lieutenant again, she pushed the thought firmly aside.

  ‘It could make us some money for Weapons Week.’ Nora added, by way of enticement. ‘This is the biggest catch in living memory, at least since the pilchards used to run by these shores early in the nineteenth century. ’

  ‘I suppose so, and worthy of celebration on its own account, let alone putting out the welcome mat to our visitors,’ Sara said, and found herself agreeing, although in her heart she knew that Hugh would be furious at the very idea of her being involved. But how could she possibly refuse? The whole town was talking about the catch. It was a phenomenon. She put this point to Hugh, hoping to sway him, but he wasn’t fooled.

  ‘You must think I’m mad. This shindig will cost me money, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Hugh, you might actually make some. Everyone is going to want to come so we thought we’d hire the Town Hall, get Hamil to play his fiddle and we could have a bit of a dance, followed by the fish supper. But since it’s only a step away across the square, they’ll no doubt wear a path to your bar for constant lubrication.’