Page 22 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘Oh, gosh, she needs a suit of armour to meet dear Mabel,’ Christina says. ‘Amazing woman. Terrifying. She’s kept the Times of Malta in print every single day during the war. I don’t know how she’s done it, but I am in awe of her. And a tiny bit terrified.’
I remain mute as Sal and I follow in Christina’s wake.
Her dancer’s grace hides her acute thinness with fluid movements, but it’s easy to see that she is near starving.
Her high cheek bones are razor sharp, and her grey eyes look huge in her heart-shaped face.
Still, her elegant eyebrows have been perfectly drawn on under her bleached-blonde curls, and there is not even a hint of roots showing. Her lips are painted a resolute red.
She graces me with another smile as we reach the second floor and a square of open doors to rooms that lead off the central hallway. The definition of putting a brave face on it, I think.
‘This is my place, but my Warby stays with me whenever he can, and I have a lot of friends . . . We do have a rather anything-goes attitude here, Maia. I hope you are not too easily scandalised.’
‘Hardly ever,’ I say as I go into a small but serviceable kitchen.
‘She does rather look as if she has been living on a farm,’ Christina says, without any cruelty, as she looks me up and down.
‘And that will never do, not for such a pretty girl. And certainly not for Mabel Strickland! You remind me of someone, Maia – I can’t place who.
But perhaps it’s just the Maltese women – they are so very lovely. ’
‘Thank you?’ I say, uncertain. ‘I’m only half Maltese. My—’
‘Her father was Maltese,’ Sal puts in, as though afraid I may get our cover story wrong. ‘I thought perhaps you might help Maia make herself a little more . . .’ He gestures vaguely at me once again.
‘Naturally, I don’t have any clothes that will fit her. I have hardly any that aren’t threadbare and worn through.’
Sal nods sombrely. ‘Of course.’
‘But I do know a haberdasher in St Paul’s Bay who still has a good stock of material, and in the meantime, of course our Alex is a dab hand with a needle, you know. Let’s go and see Alex now and see what he says. Coming, Professor?’
‘I cannot stay.’ Sal bows. ‘I am teaching the older children this afternoon at St Peter’s. Of course, they would prefer I didn’t, but mathematics is still important even in a war. You understand.’
‘I do, Sal,’ Christina says. ‘You leave her with me – I’ll get her sorted.’
‘It’s good of him to teach the children,’ I say, once the professor has departed.
‘He’s a good man,’ Christina observes as we head to find this Alex.
‘As well as teaching, he takes the bus and visits the chaps at the hospital in Mtarfa. Reads to them, plays cards with them, that sort of thing. Gives them a bit of a pick-me-up. Of course most of them would prefer to be visited by Rita Hayworth, but what can one do?’ She turns to me, eyes twinkling.
‘But perhaps you already know that – after all, he is your “cousin”. Anyway, my friends and I do our best to keep up morale – or at least we did when the troupe was touring. Now I am a plotter, and it’s serious work.
Especially when my dear Warby is in the air.
’ She hesitates for a moment, a brief expression of pain passing over her delicate features.
‘Well, all the boys, really. There are so few of them, and so few of them last very long. One does what one can.’
I want to ask her what a plotter is, but I decide that I should probably know, so I just nod sagely.
‘Here’s Alex!’ Christina claps her hands with delight as if she has never seen anyone as remarkable as Alex, and I think she might be right.
Alex is a strikingly beautiful young man sitting in a string vest that shows off his toned torso to a tee. He is bent over a sewing machine, which dominates a small bedroom strewn with colourful scraps of material. At first glance, he seems to be hemming some sort of garment with it.
‘Alex, this is Maia. We are tasked with making her presentable.’
‘Marvellous,’ Alex says. ‘Pleased to meet you. My, you are a solid girl, aren’t you? Look at those breasts, Christina! More than a couple of saucepan lids’ worth there.’
‘I know, darling – infuriating,’ Christina says. ‘And here we are, flat as pancakes!’
They both laugh uproariously, and I smile, very much like the awkward kid hanging out with the cool crowd at school.
‘I thought you might measure her up and work your magic with a needle on her clothes while I set her hair and sort out her eyebrows. What do you think?’
‘I do love a challenge,’ Alex says. ‘As long as the usual rules apply.’
‘The usual rules?’ I ask.
‘In here, I’m just me – take me as you find me. Out there, I’m Alex, army driver and drag-comedy turn in the concert party. Also, I have a fiancée at home called Dorothy. My life does rather depend on it, darling, if you don’t mind.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘I can’t imagine there is much diversity around here.’
‘You what, love?’ Alex asks.
‘Never mind,’ I say.
‘Well, come on then, Tessie – come over here and let me measure you.’
‘Tessie?’ I look at Christina, who double-snips a pair of scissors at me.
‘Two Ton Tessie, darling. Now, come here and let me have a go at turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse.’
I don’t take offence at their jokes. Like everyone who has ever known Christina Ratcliffe, I am instantly in her thrall.