Back in her time by Patricia Corbett Bowman

Where did you learn it?” asked Whitey, settling on a divan next to Mac.
    â€œThe University of Toronto, back over forty years ago, young man. Long ago …”
    â€œAnd your daughter Bette? Isn’t that an English name?”
    â€œRight you are. Named after that lovely American movie star, Bette Davis. And Bette is my granddaughter. Her father, my son, is a guest in a German prisoner-of-war camp.”
    â€œSorry to hear that,” said Mac as he accepted a crystal glass from Bette served on a slightly tarnished silver tray.
    â€œYour home didn’t sustain any damage that I can see, sir. You’ve been very lucky.”
    â€œLuck had little to do with it. I’m the provincial socialist leader. My house has been spared by the Germans. They have been the only ones to bomb in this area so far. I hope you Canadians will follow suit.”
    â€œWell, they won’t if we have anything to say about it, sir,” Whitey said, smacking his lips after tasting the fine liquor.
    â€œPlease, call me Antonio. You’ll stay for supper?”
    â€œWe’ve alread — ” Whitey started to say, when Mac kicked his shin with the force of an irate donkey.
    â€œWe’d be honoured, Antonio,” said Mac.
    â€œYes, yes, we would,” said Whitey.
    Taylor nodded approval, her mouth full of the strong drink.
    Antonio stood up and gestured widely. “Bette, show the gentlemen the way to the dining room.”
    She did.
    The boys stuffed themselves on delicious homemade pasta, a salad of lettuce, plenty of fresh black bread, and a glass of full-bodied red wine. How the old man had managed to hide and keep these precious items was a mystery. Taylor had thought her stomach had shrunk on the miserly army rations, but surprisingly, she was able to stretch it for this tasty meal, prepared, their host informed them, by Bette.
    â€œUnfortunately, my staff has abandoned me, but Bette is doing a fine job taking their place. A toast to Bette. Long may she live, in good health and beauty!”
    The soldiers raised their wine glasses. “To Bette.”
    Bette demurred and left the room through the butler’s swinging door. The house soon filled with the sweet song of a tenor from a scratchy phonograph record in another room. Taylor and the boys sat back in their chairs, full and relaxed.
    â€œIt is always a pleasure for me to get to practise my English, gentlemen. May I ask, do any of you fine men reside in that great Canadian city called Toronto, when you are not soldiering?”
    Whitey piped up, “Junior here lives in Toronto. Right, Junior?”
    Taylor felt a warm blush rise from her neck to her face. Shit. What if he asks me about Toronto? How do I know what it looked like in 1944?
    â€œJunior, is it? Are you named after your father?”
    Before she had time to answer, Mac said, “No, sir. We call him that because he’s so young-looking.”
    â€œYes, I see that, under those facial abrasions. Been in battle have you, son?”
    â€œYes, sir. Nothing serious. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
    â€œTell me about Toronto, son. Is your fine streetcar system still operating in wartime?”
    â€œI guess, sir. Not being home, I’m not sure what is happening over there.”
    â€œOf course, pardon me. Have you ever been to Victoria College? I spent many a studious hour in that fine, Romanesque revival structure. Those arches — ” Antonio closed his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep.
    Bette tiptoed into the room and beckoned to the boys and Taylor. Whitey grabbed his wineglass and swallowed the last mouthful before exiting. Bette led them to the front door and ushered them outside into the clear, star-studded night.
    â€œMi papa sleeps. You go. Okay?”
    â€œThank you and your grandfather for the lovely meal, Bette. We hope to return and pay him back sometime. You have been most gracious,” Taylor said.
    â€œYou