Название: An Unsuitable Mother
Автор: Sheelagh Kelly
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
isbn: 9780007287291
isbn:
The landlady did not bat an eyelid upon announcing she had been keeping something warm for them, and almost immediately they were served with bacon, egg, toast and tea. At least the evacuees had gone off to play, so they were allowed to eat in peace. Tucking in, but remaining self-conscious in an otherwise empty dining room, it was not long before Nell and Billy had cleared their plates, and were escaping into the fresh air.
Despite the fact that Scarborough was under fortification, with barriers, minefields and concrete pill boxes thrown up around the town, and sections of the beach cordoned off with barbed wire, it remained the bustling place of entertainment it had always been – even more bustling, with so many servicemen and children competing for space along the front. Historically a place to sit in deckchairs and listen to the band, the genteel Spa was now under military requisition. Nevertheless there were pleasures to be had amongst the amusement arcades and shellfish stalls, and these Nell and Billy proceeded to chase, undeterred by the sandbags and wire-netting, barely letting go of each other all day – even managing to eat a saucer of cockles with arms entwined, as they bumped and weaved their starry-eyed way in and out of the promenading throng, absorbing all the raucous treats that were on tap.
And when the money ran out, there were self-invented pastimes to supply laughter – even without the glasses of beer partaken at lunch – Nell’s companion so easygoing, a delight to be with. For her afternoon recreation he made up a guessing-game, which involved comparing passers-by to animals.
‘I can’t think what that chap might be,’ mused Nell, when it came to her turn, swinging her leg as they sat on a bench along the seafront. ‘He’s not really like any creature, is he?’ Billy was quick to gain points. ‘He’s a thatched cottage – has to be, with all that hair. Blimey, he’s like Moe off the Three Stooges!’
‘That’s cheating!’ She elbowed him laughingly, and drew away to accuse. ‘You said it had to be animals.’ Even this short gap between them proved too much, her eyes barely able to leave him for one second, as she watched a runnel of sweat filter from his dark hair to his brow, trickling through the creases at the edges of his eyes, then onwards down his firm cheek, before giving in to the urge to dab it away with her finger. ‘I’d hate to hear what I remind you of.’ But she shuffled back to him again, fondly laying her head on his shoulder.
Billy cuddled up to her, his voice deep and flirtatious as it murmured into her ear, ‘I can answer that easy enough – velvet, and chocolate and cream, all soft and sweet.’
‘Oh don’t say that!’ Nell looked and sounded disappointed. ‘Not all sugar and spice and things that make one puke.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that!’ Billy laughed. ‘Gawd help us – how do you want me to see you then?’
‘I’d much rather be thought of as a femme fatale.’ She adopted an exotic air, her accent foreign and her voice theatrical. ‘Dark and mysterious –’
‘You’re a ruddy mystery all right,’ cut in Billy, whipping his jovial face out of reach as she pretended to clip him. Then he sought to explain. ‘No, it’s just sometimes hard to put a word to a feeling, ain’t it? I think you’re really nice-looking – that goes without saying.’
His subject flushed with pleasure, but made self-effacing comment. ‘Not exactly dainty, though, not like that girl over there.’
‘Who cares? Look at the geezer she’s with, he’s not built like me, is he? No, we’re well-matched, you and me. I like something to get hold of.’ To Nell’s chuckles, he demonstrated this, before adding, ‘What I meant about the velvet thing was, your face has this gentle, warm way about it, as if you’re always concerned for other people, no sharp edges to it …’
‘Pudgy,’ contributed Nell.
‘No! Stop running yourself down. It’s a lovely mug. Your skin, it’s all creamy, and those chocolatey eyes, it’s as if they’re reflecting candlelight …’ His subject gave a squirm of delight, he an embarrassed quip. ‘How’s that for bleedin’ poetry?’ Moving on quickly, he asked, ‘Okay, what do I remind you of then?’
Nell placed a finger to her chin and looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm – a wet dog.’
‘Thanks very much!’ he sputtered laughingly. ‘I needn’t ask what you think of my hairy chest!’
Nell laughed too – her face ached with all the laughing she had done over the past twenty-four hours. ‘Let me finish! One of my uncles has this black mongrel –’
‘Oh, even better!’ roared Billy, throwing back his dark curly head.
‘– who loves nothing more than to jump in the river, and when he comes out he’s all bright-eyed and laughing and boisterous, bursting with life and energy – that’s what I love about you,’ Nell managed to finish. ‘You’re so full of fun, and believe me there’s such a dearth of it in our house. My parents are such old fogies.’
‘Do you ever speculate over what your real ones were like?’ asked Billy, who knew her life story.
Nell looked slightly taken aback, for she considered Wilfred and Thelma to be her real parents. They were the only ones she had known, and, perhaps due to their honesty in never hiding it from her that she had been adopted, she felt as secure as if she had been born to them. But then she admitted with a guilty smile, ‘Only when my own are annoying me, I wonder if the others were film stars or something exciting like that. But I don’t regard them to be real parents – after all, they gave me away, didn’t they?’
‘They must’ve been mad.’ He squeezed her. ‘Well, there’ll be bumper fun when we get our own house – and lots of kids.’ After sharing a tender kiss, his eyes, and Nell’s too, drifted away from each other to watch the youngsters frolick ing on the crowded beach with their buckets and spades. ‘Shall we join ’em?’
And so they did, removing their shoes and emptying them of sand, then threading their way amongst an ever-growing colony of deckchairs to find an unoccupied patch of beach, where Billy spread his khaki blouse for them to sit on. Then, aware of other people only yards away – old men with knotted handkerchiefs to protect their bald pates and trousers rolled up to the knee, scarlet-faced wives in full corsetry, complete with handbag – in discreet but awkward fashion, both shed their clothes to reveal the swimming costumes worn beneath.
Once settled side by side, looking out to sea over their kneecaps, Nell leaned against Billy, lost in reverie. ‘Where shall we live? London or York?’
‘I don’t give a fig, so long as I’m with you,’ he answered, rocking her back and forth, their flesh stuck together in the August heat.
In total agreement, Nell imbibed a deep lungful of all the scents that wafted by – the brine, the shellfish, the donkeys, the frying of chips, the honest sweat – and felt her spirits soar as high as the brilliant sun. Squinting at its reflection glittering on the waves, she exhaled a rapturous sigh. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, could we? I just wish it didn’t have to end.’
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