There were murmurs of approval from the Alphabets, who raised their beer glasses in tribute to the best idea of the evening.
‘That’s certainly a . . . novel approach,’ said Ellie as everyone else returned to their conversations.
Alfie came over with a glass of beer for Ernie.
‘That’s very much my game, d’you see?’ said Ernie once Alfie had returned to the throng. ‘Novel solutions.’
‘How’s that?’
‘I’m an engineer. I design all sorts of weird and wonderful machines.’
‘How fascinating,’ said Ellie. ‘Anything I might have heard of?’
Ernie laughed. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Industrial things mostly. We’re building machines at the moment to make parts for other machines. If we could work out a way of having them operate themselves, we could have the machines make the machines, and free the factory workers from their chains.’
‘What would they do then?’
‘The workers? There, as they say, is the rub. What would they do, indeed? Still, it’s a long way off, so no need to worry yet.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘I suppose I do, really. Not got anything to compare it with, though, to be honest. Might be happier doing something else, but I’ve never done anything else. Straight from school to university to the offices of Cashmore Engineering Limited. Family firm, d’you see? Groomed for succession and all that.’
‘Not even the army?’
‘No. Wanted to, but Pater forbad it. We were making parts for the machines in the munitions factories and he was able to persuade the local military service tribunal that I was doing essential war work in the design office. I suppose I was in a way, but I always regretted not properly doing my bit.’
‘But you were doing your bit.’
‘Difficult to persuade myself of that at the time,’ he said. ‘And even harder to persuade people on the street. Had to make sure I never went out without my little brass “On War Service” badge pinned prominently on my lapel, or there’d be hell to pay.’
‘I’ll bet,’ she said. ‘No one likes a coward.’
‘That they don’t. And they were never slow to accuse an able-bodied young man of just that if they saw him out of uniform. Can’t blame them, I suppose. Families losing sons, fathers, brothers, uncles left and right, and there’s old muggins swanning about with nothing more than ink-stained fingers to attest to his efforts.’
‘You were well out of it,’ Ellie said.
‘I know that now. I say, I’m sorry, was I being horribly crass? Did you lose someone?’
‘No, no, don’t worry, but I saw what war could do. I was in France. I was a nurse.’
‘Good lord,’ he said with some admiration. ‘Well, I never. I thought nurses were all harridans. All the ones I’ve ever met have been. Spent some time in the hospital in ’19. Spanish flu.’
‘They sent all the pretty young ones to the Front,’ she said with a smile. ‘We were good for morale.’
Ernie laughed. ‘I bet you were.’ There was purposeful movement around the beer table. ‘Hello. Looks like we’re under starter’s orders again. These breaks are getting shorter and shorter.’
‘We’d better get back to it, then.’
‘No need for you to put yourself through it,’ he said. ‘I’m rather taken with this pantomime horse idea – I think it might save me from having to get all this right. If you’d rather sit with your husband and his pals I’ll quite understand.’
‘I’ll be honest with you, Ernie,’ she said, ‘I rather enjoy dancing. I’ll join you if I may.’
Chapter Nine
Dunn spent most of Thursday doing odd jobs for Mrs Cordell. He changed a light bulb in the parlour, fixed a broken cupboard door in the kitchen, and replaced a washer in the cistern on the outside toilet. He was taking a break in the kitchen and drinking yet another cup of tea, while Mrs Cordell fussed about with the old biscuit tin that served as a first aid box.
‘You’ve cut your hand, love,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I should never have had you doing all those little jobs. I could have got a man in.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs C,’ he said. ‘It’s only a little scratch and I’m more than happy to help. You know that.’
‘You’re very kind. But you need those hands. A musician can’t earn his livin’ with damaged hands.’
‘It’s all right, Mrs C. Really.’ He held up his right hand and waggled his fingers. ‘See? It’s my plucking hand. I only need the fingers to work.’
‘Well, we’ll still get some iodine on it and a nice sticking plaster. Don’t want it getting infected – cuts on the hand like that can turn nasty.’
Dunn gave himself over to Mrs Cordell’s motherly ministrations with a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs C.’
‘Are you in for your tea this evening?’ she said as she attached the plaster. ‘Oh, no, it’s Thursday, isn’t it? You’ll be off to see your pals in Bloomsbury, won’t you.’
‘I will. Ellie insists.’
‘She’s a nice girl, that Mrs Maloney. I never knew no Americans before, but if they’re all like her it must be a lovely country.’
‘I think they’ve got their fair share of rotters just like us, but Ellie is a wonderful woman.’
‘You’ve got a bit of a soft spot for her, ain’t you?’
‘Of course. But not how you mean. She’s not the one for me, but I’ve spent my whole life looking for someone who makes me feel how she makes Skins feel.’
Mrs Cordell touched his cheek. ‘You’ll find someone, my love. I know you will.’
He smiled. ‘They’ve got a lot to live up to.’
‘In the meantime, though, I need you to take a look at the mangle. It don’t turn like it used to.’
‘We none of us do,’ he said, standing up. ‘But it probably just needs a bit of a tweak and a touch of grease.’
‘Don’t we all,’ she said with a wink.
Dunn laughed and picked up his toolbox.
When Mrs Dalrymple opened the door for Dunn, the Maloney children were engaged in a noisy and energetic game whose principal objective seemed to be to hurtle around the house as fast as they could run while caroming off as many items of furniture as possible.
‘You’ll have to excuse the bairns,’ she said. ‘In my day, weans were to be seen and not heard, but times have changed, I suppose.’
‘In my day, kids were shoved out on the street after breakfast and not seen again till bedtime. I like this modern way. It’s nice to have a big house to run around in.’
She smiled and let him through to the drawing room, where Ellie was playing the piano while Skins busied himself with the children’s building blocks. Mrs Dalrymple left just as Catherine and Edward exploded into the room.
Dunn watched for a few minutes in fascination as tiny children thudded into chairs, an occasional table, and the bookcase. A china figurine – a ballerina – tumbled from the table to the floor, but landed on the soft rug, undamaged. With Catherine taking the lead, they headed for the door.