Free An Island Apart by Lillian Beckwith Page B

or bad at this stage but it was comforting to know that at least he’d won Meggy’s approval. Remembering Meggy was due to take part of the afternoon off she asked, ‘Meggy, is there a chance of you calling at the draper’s this afternoon? I could do with a new pair of stockings and the nearest shop I can get to closes this afternoon.’
    â€˜Yes I’ll get them at the shop near our house,’ Meggy offered. ‘I believe he’s a halfpenny cheaper with most things than the one you go to. Is it the usual grey or will I get you some flesh coloured and cheer your legs up a bit?’
    â€˜Grey,’ Kirsty said firmly. ‘You know perfectly well I only ever wear grey or black.’
    â€˜More fool you,’ retorted Meggy. ‘When somebody’s got nice legs they ought to show them off a bit. That’s what my mother says.’
    â€˜And have I got nice legs?’ Kirsty put the question indifferently.
    â€˜The greengrocer says you have.’
    â€˜The rascal!’ exclaimed Kirsty witheringly.
    The greengrocer came weekly, his horse-drawn cart creaking under its load of fruit and vegetables but though she welcomed the freshness and cheapness of his produce his foul language and his persistent attempts to flirt with her made her shudder. She’d shuddered even more when she’d learned he was a respected member of the church which, among her acquaintances, was invariably alluded to as ‘Dommed Papist’.
    At that moment Isabel came into the kitchen carrying a frilled blouse which she put down on the table. ‘I want this ironing for tonight,’ she announced, ‘and make sure you don’t singe it.’ Kirsty merely glanced at the garment. ‘It’s tussore so you’ll need to take great care. Don’t leave it to her,’ she added, with a derisive glance at Meggy.
    â€˜She won’t leave it to me because I’m due to go off from one o’clock until three this afternoon,’ Meggy told her pertly.
    â€˜Well, see you’re back on time,’ Isabel warned.
    She was about to leave the kitchen when Kirsty said, ‘Isabel, we’re getting very short of butter for the guests. I did mention it to you a couple of days ago but you haven’t ordered any and we really shan’t last out until the grocer comes again.’
    â€˜There’s cooking margarine, isn’t there?’ Isabel demanded.
    â€˜Yes, of course, but you can’t surely …?’
    Isabel cut short Kirsty’s protest. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t mix it with what butter we have left. They’ll not be likely to notice the difference.’ Seeing Kirsty’s expression of dismay she went on, ‘We’ll have to do some detectivising and find out where all the butter goes to these days.’ Her eyes slid meaningfully towards Meggy’s back.
    â€˜Start looking in your larder,’ Meggy advised her saucily. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve got a whole brigade of rats in there.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous,’ Isabel snapped and left the kitchen.
    â€˜Meggy!’ Kirsty reproved her warningly.
    Meggy tittered quietly. ‘She’s a narky old besom,’ she said.
    As soon as Meggy had gone Kirsty lit the gas-iron and placed the ironing pad on the table and after she’d pressed Isabel’s blouse she brought down her own clothes and gave them a final pressing before taking them back to her room. She stood for a moment surveying them and then took out a pair of plain black gloves and a crisp white handkerchief from her knick-knack box and placed them on her dressing table. Satisfied she could make no further preparations for her wedding-day she went down to the kitchen.
    Sleep that night came fitfully and it was with a sigh of relief she heard the alarm clock signal that it was time the kitchen fire was lit and breakfast preparations got under way. She