Coronation Wives (50 page)

‘He sounds it.’

Edna folded the letter up and put it back in her bag.

‘I take it he’s coming to live with you,’ said Janet.

Edna nodded. ‘I’ve offered.’

Janet had a suspicion about the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. ‘How does Colin feel about it?’

Edna bent her head so that her hair, which was still brown with only a few stray grey strands, fell forward and hid her face. ‘He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.’

‘Oh!’ said Janet and sank back onto her haunches.

‘This ain’t right.’

Meg stood with her arms braced across her ample chest.

Polly pouted and the reflection in the mirror did the same. ‘I’m only filling in at the club until something else comes along. It’s not goin’ to be a regular thing.’

To her ears the explanation sounded genuine, but Meg wasn’t fooled.

‘Pull the other one!’

Polly swept Deep Crimson over her lips, folded the top one against the bottom one so that the coverage would be even, then pouted. ‘I need the job; we need the money.’ She made it sound as though she were really putting herself out.

‘And you know ’ow you’ll earn it in that type of place, my
girl, drinking, dancing, and showing everything you got.’

She saw that Meg wasn’t fooled. There was no point in pretending. ‘So what’s wrong with dancing and drinking? I want some fun. I deserve some fun!’

‘What about your husband? What about your daughter?’

Mouth petulant and movements quick, Polly shoved her lipstick into her black suede clutch bag, then snapped it shut. ‘It’s my life!’

Meg wagged her finger. ‘No. That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got to consider other people. And you’re not. You’re only thinking about yourself.’

Meg’s sharp words struck a chord, but the fun loving side of Polly didn’t want to hear it.

She turned sharply, her blonde curls flopping over one eye like Veronica Lake.

‘All I ever wanted was a nice bloke who’d look after me and mine. I thought I ’ad one – and what does ’e bloody go and do? Gets locked up in clink! That’s bloody what! And ’ere I am, stuck on the outside, ’aving to get work where I can or otherwise we’re up so and so creek without a bloody boat let alone a paddle!’

She stomped past Meg and grabbed a black three-quarter-length coat from where she’d left it on the back of the settee. The coat had been full-length and old-fashioned when Meg had bought it at a jumble sale. Trimmed to a more fashionable length it looked a million dollars. With the material cut off she’d made a pillbox hat that perched jauntily on Polly’s head – a glamorous outfit at a giveaway price. The coat swung seductively over a black skirt, matching black shoes and nylons with pronounced seams snaking up the backs of her legs. Swallowing the guilt she told herself she deserved to live a little, and anyway, Meg wouldn’t tell Billy, would she?

Christmas was a quiet affair, everyone seeming to keep to their own houses and private worlds. Geoffrey was home for Christmas and although he glowered over the dinner table at Ivan, the latter did not rise to the bait. Christmas dinner was about the only time Geoffrey spent at home. The rest of the time he was out with Dorothea. Janet spent time with Ivan. They went out for New Year, saw Polly with the thuggish looking type they’d seen her with before. There was no sign of Edna or Colin.

Charlotte worried about David. He’d hardly been into his consulting rooms and she was sure the stroke had taken far more out of him than his colleagues in the profession were letting on. Pink capillaries erupted in the grey pallor of his face with amazing frequency, his hands shook slightly, and he seemed continually weary.

Tonight he was sitting in his favourite armchair in front of the french windows. A strong breeze hurled a shower of sleet and rain against the glass.

Charlotte drew the curtains against the worsening weather. They settled in their respective chairs with a tray of tea and crumpets on the small table between them. She lay her head back, closed her eyes and sighed, ‘Oh bliss.’

This was one of those peaceful moments when partners of long standing can either talk or sit quietly and merely enjoy each other’s presence.

Their talk was sporadic. David mentioned how much he admired Colin for coping without legs and running a business and taking care of a family. ‘Limbs are very precious,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but not so precious as time. You get to learn that as you get older.’

Recognizing his need to talk deeply and truly, Charlotte got up and sat herself on the chair arm beside him. She kissed him on the head and ruffled his hair. ‘Philosophy? At this time of night?’

David squeezed her waist. ‘Not really. I was just reminiscing. We’ve had our problems, darling, but what are they compared to his? We’re lucky. Very lucky.’

The silence between them was immensely sweet. Communication between two people married as long as they had been did not need to be vocal. Each knew the thoughts of the other and was in tune with them.

‘Has Mrs Grey gone home?’ David asked.

‘Yes.’

‘So we’ve got the place to ourselves.’

She knew exactly what he was suggesting and was not sure that she should agree to it. She started to voice her concern. ‘David, you know what the doctors said …’

He laughed. ‘Doctors? You don’t want to take notice of all they say, darling.’

‘If you’re sure, Doctor David?’

‘Very.’ He squeezed her hand.

She got up and his arm slipped from her waist. ‘I’ll go on up.’

‘I’m right behind you.’

Unwilling to leave him, she waited and watched as he got up from the chair, reached out and tottered slightly. ‘David?’ She tried to control the concern in her voice.

He smiled mischievously and for a moment she saw again the young doctor she’d fallen in love with.

‘Time waits for no man,’ he murmured. It was the most poignant thing he could possibly have said.

No longer driven by the procreative passion of youth, their lovemaking was slow, soft and gentle. It was like playing a well-loved tune; the melody was easily remembered and languorously performed.

After making love, he kissed her and said goodnight.

She lay awhile in the darkness remembering other times when they’d made love. In their youth it had been frequent and
fiercely passionate. After the war it had turned from passion to violent lust on his part and a kind of resigned acceptance on hers. That’s where Josef had come in. Did I love him? she asked herself. David stirred beside her.

‘Are you going to your own bed?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She turned and put her arm around him. ‘No. I’m staying with you.’

In the morning, when she woke up, she was still in his bed and wasn’t sure of the time. A small chink of daylight showed through the curtains. She blinked away her sleepiness, got up onto one elbow and reached for the brass monster sitting on the bedside cabinet. Eight o’clock, but the minute hand was not moving. She checked her watch. Nine forty-five!

She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘David! Quickly! The alarm hasn’t gone off.’

David did not respond. Charlotte shook his shoulder. He didn’t move.

‘David?’

The clock, the room and the world in general seemed to fade from existence as Charlotte realized that David had said goodnight for the very last time.

New Year’s Day, 1954, not the best of dates for a funeral, thought Janet. An inconsequential, a midweek, run-of-the-mill date might pass without anyone noticing. She concluded that although her father’s death had occurred between Christmas and New Year, it could not possibly be forgotten. It was sandwiched between the two, as a normal working weekday was sandwiched between two weekends.

He was buried in the family grave at Westbury, a pretty little cemetery not far from the village and close to the golf links.

‘He would have liked that,’ said Charlotte with a tight smile.

Janet looked at her brother, Geoffrey, and twitched her head,
motioning him to offer Charlotte his arm. Her final look of complete exasperation, the last before gritting one’s teeth and snarling the requirement into words, eventually did the trick.

Janet took her mother’s other arm and the three of them made for the waiting limousines.

‘Are you all right, Mother?’

Charlotte nodded. ‘I suppose so. It’s just that I wish it hadn’t been now, I wish more things …’ She paused and sighed. ‘He wasn’t a bad man, you know. And he was a good doctor.’

One of David’s numerous cousins came up at that point and offered Charlotte his condolences. ‘He will be greatly missed, my dear.’ He took her mother’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, then looked from Geoffrey to Janet and back again.

‘So when are you going to become a doctor, young man?’

‘Never!’ said Geoffrey.

‘Geoffrey doesn’t want to be a doctor,’ Charlotte said.

The uncle raised his eyebrows. His eyelids were heavy, like soup spoons falling over his eyes. ‘Really? What a shame.’

Janet saw Geoffrey bristle. Her mother dropped her gaze to the floor. Geoffrey’s lifestyle and choice of career were still something of a mystery. His personal life was less so. He was still seeing Dorothea, much to Janet’s surprise.

Dorothea attended the funeral, but had stayed in the background until it was over. Now that they’d reached the cars, she came bouncing up, a picture in Astrakhan fur and thickly soled boots. She immediately slipped her arm into Geoffrey’s and said to Charlotte, ‘So terribly sorry, Mrs Hennessey-White. My parents send their condolences.’

Charlotte merely smiled and nodded. ‘It’s very kind of you to come, Dorothea.’

‘My pleasure,’ Dorothea answered, hugging Geoffrey’s arm close to her own. Suddenly, she gave Geoffrey a quick dig in the side and mouthed, ‘Go on.’

Geoffrey shuffled his feet and looked nervous.

Charlotte looked expectant. Something was about to be said. Dorothea’s face said it all and she ended up having to say it.

‘Geoffrey and I are getting married!’

Janet’s jaw dropped.

Charlotte looked a little shaken. ‘I see.’

‘So you’re going to gain a daughter – if that’s all right with you,’ said Dorothea, beaming broadly.

‘Geoffrey is twenty-one in February,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s entirely up to him what he does.’ Some widows would have been angry to be told such a thing on the day of their husband’s funeral. Charlotte was surprisingly calm.

Dorothea hugged Geoffrey close, then kissed him on the cheek. ‘And you’re going to gain a grandchild,’ she went on.

Charlotte’s face turned white.

Janet was dumbstruck. Dorothea had actually kept a secret. She hadn’t said a word to anyone.

‘Then of course you must marry.’

‘See! I told you it would be all right.’ Dorothea slapped a dirty great kiss on Geoffrey’s cheek, then dragged him off along the pavement to the last car in the row of hearses that sat outside the cemetery.

Shocked to a standstill, Janet kept her arm linked with that of her mother. She peered at Charlotte’s face, trying to see signs that she might have a heart attack or at least fall to the ground in a dead faint.

‘Mother? Are you all right?’ she whispered and found herself really caring whether anyone had overheard Dorothea’s statement.

The creases at the sides of Charlotte’s eyes became wrinkles as she smiled and patted Janet’s hand. ‘Of course I am.’

‘Mother, they shouldn’t have—’

‘Of course they should! Of course they should,’ she repeated.
‘Life goes on, Janet. No matter what happens, life goes on and we must go along with it. Faith in the future is like keeping a penny for tomorrow just in case you need it.’

Before leaving, Polly flounced up to Charlotte, her jaw clenched and a determined expression on her face. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long while, but things have been happening,’ she said.

Charlotte invited her to talk whenever she wanted and apologized for not being available. The irony was wasted.

‘Well, as soon as things are a bit sorted, I’ll be over,’ Polly said.

Weeks later, Charlotte was still sorting things out; papers, clothes, pipes that would no longer be smoked, golf clubs used a few times then left to gather dust. Evidence of a man’s life. Even his old uniform still hung in the wardrobe. Initially she had planned that this would be the first to be thrown out, possibly given to the same rag and bone man to whom Janet had given her things.

Charlotte sat down on the bed and buried her head in her hands. She’d cried many tears, and in nights past and for nights to come, she would relive that poignant moment when they’d made love and kissed goodbye for the very last time. Yesterday would still be with her tomorrow. But you must get back to normal, she told herself, and decided to make some tea. The tea was not drunk. The house echoed to her footsteps and the music on the Home Service seemed to get lost amongst the emptiness. Even Mrs Grey was having a day off to go along to see her GP to check on her varicose veins.

She had to get out of the house. She didn’t know or care where. Anywhere!

Just as she was picking up her gloves and the swansdown hat that matched her grey suit trimmed with white piping, the telephone rang.

She paused. Work for the bureau had been put on hold. O’Hara had indeed proved to be the owner of the car. Things seemed to have reached a dead end.

Shall I or shan’t I?

She reached for the front door meaning to ignore it, but paused again. It might be the solicitors, the bank, the garage, the funeral parlour, perhaps a friend, or a relative.

The ringing persisted. She rushed back into the study and picked it up.

Brookman was on the other end. The first thing he did was to commiserate with her on her great loss. After that, excitement resounded in his voice. ‘I’ve some interesting news on our Mr O’Hara.’

Charlotte urged htm to continue.

He cleared his throat. ‘As you know, the large volume of displaced persons coming out of Europe do pose some definite problems. They have to be controlled, hence the Aliens Register and the documents they have to carry with them at all times.’

Paperwork, paperwork! Charlotte winced. She’d seen men who had fought for the Allies grit their teeth as petty officials told them where they could work and live.