her cousin. ‘She’s our evacuee.’
Mollie pouted at herself in the mirror and reminded them that they also had four other empty bedrooms. ‘But don’t worry, we’ll get two nice girls, from Marylebone or Mayfair. Not boys. We don’t really want boys , do we?’
Nell shrugged. ‘But the war only started yesterday.’
Mollie checked her teeth in her compact. ‘Yes, and we’re all going to have to get used to it. To rally round, aren’t we, Sylvie?’
Mollie glanced at her niece and Nell followed suit. Sylvie was miles away, staring beyond the hallway, beyond the house. Nell nudged her and Sylvie seemed to draw herself together with a slow weakling smile.
‘That’s more like it,’ said Mollie. ‘Now,’ she snapped her handbag shut, ‘according to Public Information Leaflet Number Three , petrol will be the first thing to be rationed, so I will do my duty and cycle down to the village.’
‘In that suit, Mother?’ said Nell.
Mollie paused and brushed her hands over the padded shoulders. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But we must keep up appearances, even though there’s a war on. I’ll get Mr Pudifoot to back the car out. Use a bit of petrol. Just this once. This is my national duty, after all.’
The girls had had their tea hours ago and, as evening fell, Nell went up to the bedroom. Outside the open landing window, the birds changed their key, settling down for the night. Sylvie was lying on her side on her bed, chin propped on her palm staring at Rebecca . Nell began to sort out a pile of school books.
‘Your school had better be nice. They’d better put me in the right class,’ said Sylvie, closing the book and throwingit onto the nightstand. ‘I’ve tried to read that page about a dozen times.’
‘Are you all right today?’
Sylvie told her to stop asking. ‘You’re making it worse.’
‘It’s just a school, an ordinary school. We have to get the early bus from Great Lednor to Aylesbury. You’ll be top of the French class, at least.’ Nell made a pile of exercise books from last term and began to sharpen her pencils. ‘Girls only. I wonder who Mother will bring back from the village hall. What would you prefer?’
‘Boys, definitely boys.’ Sylvie yawned. ‘Then we won’t be expected to play with them. And we can flirt with them if they are handsome enough. Merde , is that the time? It’s getting dark. I don’t know how you can see what you are doing.’ She reached to put on the lamp.
‘Sylvie! The blackout!’ cried Nell.
‘Oh, this is going to be such a bore.’ She hauled herself up off the bed to pull the curtains. ‘Whatever happens, I want to be home for Christmas. Adele makes the best Christmas dinner ever, with Maman ’s help, and sometimes mine. We have goose. Have you ever tasted goose skin? And Calvados apple sauce. Oh look, Auntie Mollie’s coming up the drive.’
The Ford rumbled over the gravel, its dipped headlights two feeble beacons in the near darkness.
‘Boys or girls? Boys or girls?’ wondered Nell.
Her mother parked the car and emerged, her suit rather crumpled. Then the passenger door opened and both girls gasped in surprise. There was a woman – youngish and bookish – with a drooping hat and saggy skirt. She stopped, perplexed, and gazed up at the front of the house. Nell could see her mouthing as she counted the windows, a hand pressed with surprise over her throat.
Mollie sounded cheery, even though Nell knew she’d be all in. ‘Come on, miss. Do come on. Here we are. Meet my husband. Meet the family. Welcome to Lednor.’
The girls hurried downstairs and passed a dented cardboard suitcase, tied with rope, that had been left at the bottom of the stairs. They followed the sound of voices from the drawing room where her father was just getting to his feet to shake hands with the stranger, while Mollie stood next to him, her hand proprietarily on his arm. He towered over the younger woman, who, Nell noticed, almost did a
Mollie pouted at herself in the mirror and reminded them that they also had four other empty bedrooms. ‘But don’t worry, we’ll get two nice girls, from Marylebone or Mayfair. Not boys. We don’t really want boys , do we?’
Nell shrugged. ‘But the war only started yesterday.’
Mollie checked her teeth in her compact. ‘Yes, and we’re all going to have to get used to it. To rally round, aren’t we, Sylvie?’
Mollie glanced at her niece and Nell followed suit. Sylvie was miles away, staring beyond the hallway, beyond the house. Nell nudged her and Sylvie seemed to draw herself together with a slow weakling smile.
‘That’s more like it,’ said Mollie. ‘Now,’ she snapped her handbag shut, ‘according to Public Information Leaflet Number Three , petrol will be the first thing to be rationed, so I will do my duty and cycle down to the village.’
‘In that suit, Mother?’ said Nell.
Mollie paused and brushed her hands over the padded shoulders. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But we must keep up appearances, even though there’s a war on. I’ll get Mr Pudifoot to back the car out. Use a bit of petrol. Just this once. This is my national duty, after all.’
The girls had had their tea hours ago and, as evening fell, Nell went up to the bedroom. Outside the open landing window, the birds changed their key, settling down for the night. Sylvie was lying on her side on her bed, chin propped on her palm staring at Rebecca . Nell began to sort out a pile of school books.
‘Your school had better be nice. They’d better put me in the right class,’ said Sylvie, closing the book and throwingit onto the nightstand. ‘I’ve tried to read that page about a dozen times.’
‘Are you all right today?’
Sylvie told her to stop asking. ‘You’re making it worse.’
‘It’s just a school, an ordinary school. We have to get the early bus from Great Lednor to Aylesbury. You’ll be top of the French class, at least.’ Nell made a pile of exercise books from last term and began to sharpen her pencils. ‘Girls only. I wonder who Mother will bring back from the village hall. What would you prefer?’
‘Boys, definitely boys.’ Sylvie yawned. ‘Then we won’t be expected to play with them. And we can flirt with them if they are handsome enough. Merde , is that the time? It’s getting dark. I don’t know how you can see what you are doing.’ She reached to put on the lamp.
‘Sylvie! The blackout!’ cried Nell.
‘Oh, this is going to be such a bore.’ She hauled herself up off the bed to pull the curtains. ‘Whatever happens, I want to be home for Christmas. Adele makes the best Christmas dinner ever, with Maman ’s help, and sometimes mine. We have goose. Have you ever tasted goose skin? And Calvados apple sauce. Oh look, Auntie Mollie’s coming up the drive.’
The Ford rumbled over the gravel, its dipped headlights two feeble beacons in the near darkness.
‘Boys or girls? Boys or girls?’ wondered Nell.
Her mother parked the car and emerged, her suit rather crumpled. Then the passenger door opened and both girls gasped in surprise. There was a woman – youngish and bookish – with a drooping hat and saggy skirt. She stopped, perplexed, and gazed up at the front of the house. Nell could see her mouthing as she counted the windows, a hand pressed with surprise over her throat.
Mollie sounded cheery, even though Nell knew she’d be all in. ‘Come on, miss. Do come on. Here we are. Meet my husband. Meet the family. Welcome to Lednor.’
The girls hurried downstairs and passed a dented cardboard suitcase, tied with rope, that had been left at the bottom of the stairs. They followed the sound of voices from the drawing room where her father was just getting to his feet to shake hands with the stranger, while Mollie stood next to him, her hand proprietarily on his arm. He towered over the younger woman, who, Nell noticed, almost did a
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