Chapter Two

      She’d left it too late by dithering. As each day passed Lana became more annoyed with herself for not taking action. It would have been a marvellous opportunity to gain experience as a headmistress, albeit temporarily. Nothing was permanent in wartime anyway, but it would have looked good on her work record. At least she now knew what she wanted to do. She’d thought she’d wanted to join the ATS, that was true, but teaching was in her blood, and as soon as her parents employed an assistant for the shop she’d start applying to other schools.

      Another week passed and Lana was kept busy with deliveries and serving in the shop while her mother built up her strength and carried on doing the bookkeeping. There were times in the evening, though, when Lana just longed to go out with a friend to the pictures – anything to relieve the relentless tedium. But most of her friends had joined up if they hadn’t already been conscripted. She would have been pleased to take her mother so she could escape to a world that didn’t consist of the constant round of cooking, cleaning, washing and all the other domestic chores on top of the accounts for the shop. But her mother always shook her head, her chin quivering with fright at the thought of venturing into the outside world. Lana gave a sigh of frustration.

      The only bright spot was that the nights were drawing out and it was already March. The month when spring began. When the primroses showed their yellow faces along the verges. She’d already spotted snowdrops three weeks ago when she’d gone for a walk up the lane. Her heart lifted for a few moments and then the memory of Dickie’s face blocked out everything else, and an overwhelming sadness filled every part of her body. Her love had been extinguished by some nasty little Austrian’s megalomania, and his hatred of anyone who didn’t fit his bill of a perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed German. If Hitler had those physical traits it would be slightly more understandable, but he was the very opposite of what he ranted on about; yet no high-ranking German, from the little they were told, seemed to mock it, or even question it.

      Dickie had only been the second serious boyfriend in her life. She’d never told her parents or they would have been shocked but she’d lived with the first one, Keith Travers, for two and a half years. She’d been twenty-five and old enough to know better but had been totally infatuated. He was every girl’s dream – handsome, intelligent, fun, successful at his job as a property developer … she could go on listing the things that had appealed. But he’d invested in the wrong company who’d done the dirty on him and he’d lost almost all his money. He’d changed overnight, becoming morose, angry, argumentative, even lazy about his appearance … No matter how she’d tried to help him and encourage him, he’d turned her away, shouting at her that she didn’t understand what a failure he felt.

      Something flickered at the corner of her mind. Wasn’t that how she was feeling right this minute? She’d accused Keith of having no backbone, but wasn’t she acting exactly the same? Giving up, instead of gritting her teeth and getting on with it. It was over a year now since that terrible day when she’d had the telegram confirming Dickie’s death and most of her friends thought it was high time she pulled herself together and got on with her life. She wasn’t the only woman who’d lost her fiancé in the war, they reminded her. She’d immediately felt guilty, as two of them had lost their husbands, leaving little children without their fathers.

      She swallowed hard as her thoughts rolled back to Keith again. To when she’d finally made a decision to be responsible for her own life.

      An only child, his parents doted on him and she’d simply carried on doing everything for him. But one evening when he’d flounced out and, she presumed, gone to the pub, which he did most nights, she packed her clothes and her few small valuables, and left him a brief note on his pillow. Her friend, Belinda, had mentioned a spare room in a house she shared with two others if Lana should ever need it. But Keith hadn’t accepted it was the end of their relationship. He asked her to go back and after a solid month of begging, she’d given in. It had been a disaster and six weeks later she’d left for good.

      Biting her lip she flinched at the memory and her own foolishness, but one good thing had come from the failed relationship: Keith owned a car. It was the one thing he’d managed to hold on to. Although her brothers had taught her to drive in their old Austin 7, it was Keith who showed her how to change a tyre and check the oil and water, and do basic maintenance work.

      When she looked back she realised she couldn’t have truly cared because she’d got over him quickly. Dickie was different. She’d known he was special straightaway – and they’d hit it off as true friends. It had been a slow lead-up to love, but when the spark had burst into flames she knew she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. Now he’d been taken from her. By the bloody Germans. She swallowed but she couldn’t stop the tears flowing.

      This morning the customers were even more demanding than usual. She was tired of reminding them that there was a war on.

      ‘Make us a cup of tea, love,’ her father said at ten past ten. ‘I’m that thirsty I can’t wait until eleven.’

      She gave him a fond look. His eyes were drooping, not masking the lines of strain around them.

      ‘All right, Dad. I could do with one myself.’ She nodded over to the two boxes of biscuits that had just been delivered. ‘I’ll sort them out when I come back. There might be a few broken ones that we couldn’t possibly sell to our customers.’ She grinned. ‘Not to the adults, anyway.’

      Her father chuckled and carried on stacking the shelf with the dozen tins of soup. No doubt they’d all have disappeared by the end of the morning, Lana thought, and who knew when there’d be another delivery.

      She picked up an envelope her mother had left for her on the kitchen table and studied the handwriting. She could hear Mum upstairs and smiled. It was changing-the-beds day and nothing would alter her routine even though Lana had told her not to do it by herself. That she’d be there in a few minutes to help. Sliding the blade of a knife underneath the flap she pulled out a typed sheet of paper and glanced at the signature at the bottom. G. Shepherd. Curious. Her eyes lifted to the beginning.

       18th March 1943

       Dear Miss Ashwin,

       I’m writing to you to inform you the situation has changed regarding the position for a temporary headmistress. Therefore, if you are still interested I would be very pleased to arrange for you to come for an interview as soon as possible.

       I look forward to hearing from you shortly.

       Respectfully yours,

       G. Shepherd

      Lana read the letter through twice to be sure she’d understood it correctly. Reading between the lines Mr Shepherd sounded worried. It was obvious the other person hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. She laid the sheet of paper on the table while she filled the kettle and prepared the tea tray, her head spinning. What should she do? She wasn’t ever going to pass her medical for one of the services, so that was out. There was no doubt about it –