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Authors: Lucinda Riley
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inquisitiveness.
‘We’re good friends. That’s all, really.’
‘Would it be impertinent to suggest that I have the feeling that David is more than a little keen on you? After all, it’s not as if he lends the cottage to every stray girl he
meets.’
‘As I said, we’re just good friends.’ Greta felt herself blushing. ‘David helped me because I had no one else.’
‘What about your family?’
‘I . . . they died in the Blitz.’ It was a lie, but LJ wasn’t to know.
‘I see. Poor you. And the baby?’
‘The father was an American officer. I thought he loved me and—’
LJ nodded. ‘Well, it’s happened through the centuries and will continue for time eternal, I’m sure. And there are lots less lucky than you, my dear. At least you have a roof
over your head, thanks to my son.’
‘And I’ll always be grateful,’ said Greta, feeling suddenly tearful and overwhelmed.
‘Now, you don’t mind if we eat off trays in here, do you?’ LJ said, changing the subject. ‘The dining room’s so damned cold and gloomy. Only to be used for funeral
wakes, in my book.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good. I’ll go and fetch our supper, then.’
LJ was back shortly, carrying two plates piled high with a hearty beef stew and buttery mashed potatoes.
‘This tastes wonderful,’ Greta said, tucking in hungrily. ‘What we ate at home during the war was pretty awful.’
‘I heard those powdered eggs were something of an acquired taste.’ LJ raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you won’t want for fresh produce around here. We have sheep galore,
poultry, game birds and home-grown vegetables to boot. Plus the dairy, of course.’
‘Goodness me! I was starving,’ Greta said a few minutes later as she put her knife and fork together on the empty plate.
‘A combination of fresh air and pregnancy. Now, come and help me wash up. I do so hate coming down to dirty dishes in the morning.’
Greta picked up her tray and followed LJ into the kitchen.
‘Talking of food, I’ll bring eggs, milk, vegetables and meat for you weekly. If you want anything else, you can catch the bus into Crickhowell, the nearest village. Not that they
stock hampers from Fortnum’s, but there’s a nice wool shop. Maybe you could knit some things for the baby – and for yourself, for that matter. You’ll need some warmer
clothing, winter can be bitter here.’ LJ glanced at Greta’s thin jacket and skirt.
‘I don’t know how to knit, LJ.’
‘Well, then, we’ll have to teach you, won’t we? During the war I must have knitted about a hundred jumpers for our boys. It’s amazing the things you learn when you have
to. And David has a stack of books that should keep you occupied. I’ve just finished
Animal Farm
by that chap George Orwell. Wonderful book. I’ll lend it to you if you
like.’
Greta nodded eagerly. She’d always been an avid reader.
They went back into the sitting room, drank cocoa and listened to the nine o’clock news on the wireless.
‘Lifeline for us here, that ugly box of wire mesh,’ said LJ. ‘I’ve become quite addicted to Tommy Handley in
ITMA
, and David idolises him.’
‘May I ask why David left Marchmont to work in London?’ asked Greta. ‘If I’d been born here, I certainly wouldn’t have left.’
LJ sighed. ‘Well, for starters, David really left Marchmont a long time ago. He boarded at Winchester and was in his final year at Oxford when the war broke out. Although he didn’t
need to, he enlisted straight away and was injured a few months later at Dunkirk. Once he recovered, he was sent to Bletchley Park and, from all accounts, was working on some pretty top-secret
stuff down there. Clever boy, David. Has an excellent academic record. Seems such a shame he didn’t have a chance to finish his degree, or decide to pursue a career in which he can use his
brains.’
‘Well, I’ve seen David perform. The way he reels off his patter is wonderful. I think you have to be very clever
‘We’re good friends. That’s all, really.’
‘Would it be impertinent to suggest that I have the feeling that David is more than a little keen on you? After all, it’s not as if he lends the cottage to every stray girl he
meets.’
‘As I said, we’re just good friends.’ Greta felt herself blushing. ‘David helped me because I had no one else.’
‘What about your family?’
‘I . . . they died in the Blitz.’ It was a lie, but LJ wasn’t to know.
‘I see. Poor you. And the baby?’
‘The father was an American officer. I thought he loved me and—’
LJ nodded. ‘Well, it’s happened through the centuries and will continue for time eternal, I’m sure. And there are lots less lucky than you, my dear. At least you have a roof
over your head, thanks to my son.’
‘And I’ll always be grateful,’ said Greta, feeling suddenly tearful and overwhelmed.
‘Now, you don’t mind if we eat off trays in here, do you?’ LJ said, changing the subject. ‘The dining room’s so damned cold and gloomy. Only to be used for funeral
wakes, in my book.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good. I’ll go and fetch our supper, then.’
LJ was back shortly, carrying two plates piled high with a hearty beef stew and buttery mashed potatoes.
‘This tastes wonderful,’ Greta said, tucking in hungrily. ‘What we ate at home during the war was pretty awful.’
‘I heard those powdered eggs were something of an acquired taste.’ LJ raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you won’t want for fresh produce around here. We have sheep galore,
poultry, game birds and home-grown vegetables to boot. Plus the dairy, of course.’
‘Goodness me! I was starving,’ Greta said a few minutes later as she put her knife and fork together on the empty plate.
‘A combination of fresh air and pregnancy. Now, come and help me wash up. I do so hate coming down to dirty dishes in the morning.’
Greta picked up her tray and followed LJ into the kitchen.
‘Talking of food, I’ll bring eggs, milk, vegetables and meat for you weekly. If you want anything else, you can catch the bus into Crickhowell, the nearest village. Not that they
stock hampers from Fortnum’s, but there’s a nice wool shop. Maybe you could knit some things for the baby – and for yourself, for that matter. You’ll need some warmer
clothing, winter can be bitter here.’ LJ glanced at Greta’s thin jacket and skirt.
‘I don’t know how to knit, LJ.’
‘Well, then, we’ll have to teach you, won’t we? During the war I must have knitted about a hundred jumpers for our boys. It’s amazing the things you learn when you have
to. And David has a stack of books that should keep you occupied. I’ve just finished
Animal Farm
by that chap George Orwell. Wonderful book. I’ll lend it to you if you
like.’
Greta nodded eagerly. She’d always been an avid reader.
They went back into the sitting room, drank cocoa and listened to the nine o’clock news on the wireless.
‘Lifeline for us here, that ugly box of wire mesh,’ said LJ. ‘I’ve become quite addicted to Tommy Handley in
ITMA
, and David idolises him.’
‘May I ask why David left Marchmont to work in London?’ asked Greta. ‘If I’d been born here, I certainly wouldn’t have left.’
LJ sighed. ‘Well, for starters, David really left Marchmont a long time ago. He boarded at Winchester and was in his final year at Oxford when the war broke out. Although he didn’t
need to, he enlisted straight away and was injured a few months later at Dunkirk. Once he recovered, he was sent to Bletchley Park and, from all accounts, was working on some pretty top-secret
stuff down there. Clever boy, David. Has an excellent academic record. Seems such a shame he didn’t have a chance to finish his degree, or decide to pursue a career in which he can use his
brains.’
‘Well, I’ve seen David perform. The way he reels off his patter is wonderful. I think you have to be very clever
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