Forgotten Child (16 page)

Jenny had been glad to leave after dinner. She’d been away from Delia for over two years, but time and distance hadn’t softened her memories, and seeing her again had brought them back to the surface. When saying goodbye, Delia had put her arms around her and whispered what had sounded like a heartfelt apology, one that Jenny doubted she could trust. Marcos had warned her to take things slowly and she intended to do just that.

It was now Monday morning and Jenny was thankful that this holiday had served as an excuse to avoid making any firm arrangements for a return visit. Marcos had a few things to sort out before they could leave, but he was picking her up at twelve, so when the doorbell rang a few minutes before midday, she ran downstairs to throw open the street door.

‘I’m ready,’ she called. ‘I just need to fetch my case.’

‘I’ll carry it down,’ Marcos said, kissing her on the cheek.

Upstairs in the flat, Jenny pointed to her case. ‘I wasn’t sure if one will be enough.’

Marcos simply smiled as he picked it up and for a moment Jenny was exasperated. He didn’t seem to understand that, with no idea where they were going or for how long, deciding what to pack had been a nightmare. She followed him out and locked the door, her face downcast as Marcos stowed her luggage and they climbed into the car.

He turned to look at her, saying softly, ‘Jenny, there’s no need to worry about small things, clothes and such. I have everything in hand, so just relax and enjoy the journey.’

His expression was so appealing that Jenny found it impossible to resist. ‘All right, I’ll try, but after what has happened lately I’m not really keen on surprises.’

He leaned across, kissed her, then put on his sunglasses and started the engine. ‘In that case, we’ll turn the journey into a game. There’ll be clues on the way, and if you can work out our destination I promise that when we stop for the night, I’ll tell you why we’re going there.’

‘I already know that. We’re going on holiday.’

Before driving off, Marcos said, ‘It could be more than a holiday, darling.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t spoil the game. Work out the destination first.’

Marcos wouldn’t be drawn any further and, given no other choice, Jenny began to enjoy the game as they picked up the A1. She soon worked out that they were going north, but as Marcos had mentioned stopping overnight she didn’t make any suggestions until far-flung places began to appear on signposts.

‘Leicester,’ she suggested.

‘No, try again.’

‘Derby then?’

‘No, darling, not there.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Jenny said some time later, ‘Robin Hood. Sherwood Forest. We’re going to Nottingham.’

‘That wouldn’t involve an overnight stop.’

Stumped for now, Jenny’s eyelids began to droop and she fell into a light doze. The rumble of the tyres on the road became distant, and when she opened her eyes again it was to see another destination.

‘Sheffield?’ she asked sleepily.

‘So you’re awake, but I’m afraid you’re wrong again. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a break so we’ll stop soon.’

‘I’m thirsty, so yes please,’ Jenny said, surprised to find they’d been on the road for over three hours. ‘Where are we?’

‘Close to one of your suggestions, Nottingham,’ Marcos said, turning off the road and pulling up outside a village café shortly after.

Jenny was glad to get out of the car and her first call was to the toilets. After that she was soon sipping a Coke while they waited for their sandwiches to arrive.

‘It’s nice here,’ she said. ‘The countryside is so pretty.’

‘Not as pretty as you,’ Marcos said.

She smiled. ‘Thank you. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?’

‘No, the game is still on.’

Jenny sighed. She had no idea where to suggest next, but surely the next stretch of their journey would reveal the final clue?

Marcos bit into his sandwich. He hadn’t wanted to reveal where they were going before now, worried that if he told Jenny she would mention it to her father at dinner yesterday and give the game away. Of course it was perfectly safe now and he could have told Jenny when they set out earlier, but after the pressure her parents had put her under he wasn’t exactly confident that this would work. He’d decided to wait, to turn the journey into a game, hoping that at some point he’d find the perfect moment.

‘It’s such a lovely day,’ Jenny said, bright sunlight
shining through the café window to gleam on her hair. ‘I hope the weather doesn’t change.’

‘Are you too hot? Would you like to move away from the window?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said.

Marcos was fascinated by the way the sun highlighted the natural blonde tones in Jenny’s hair, and one side of her face was illuminated too, her skin perfect. She’d gone along with the game, hadn’t carped or complained once on the journey, which made a refreshing change.

The others would have done nothing but moan, and in fact just telling them that he’d be away for a while had provoked a barrage of complaints. He had no idea why, especially as all that interested them was his wallet. It certainly wasn’t his company – they had each other for that.

He’d shut them up by using his fists on one of them as usual, enjoyed it too, afterwards throwing them extra funds. Despite a black eye, he’d seen the avid greed but, if all went well, this very greed would ensure their silence.

Jenny had finished her sandwich and Coke by now so, draining the last of his coffee, Marcos said, ‘Ready, darling?’

‘Yes,’ she said, dabbing her lips with a paper napkin.

The gesture reminded Marcos of Delia, and though he hated what the woman had put Jenny
through, he knew that her mother’s immaculate manners had been passed on. Delia was a woman of class, a class he aspired to, and in their new home Jenny would entertain with the same style and grace as her mother.

They continued their journey, Jenny spotting a signpost and asking ‘Manchester…or Leeds?’

‘Neither of those,’ he said as they travelled further north, talking of other things: the house, the colour schemes for soft furnishing. Then Jenny mentioned cooking lessons again.

‘If that’s what you want to do, it’s fine with me,’ Marcos said, ‘or failing that we could employ a cook.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Jenny said, giggling. ‘I’m looking forward to learning how to prepare wonderful meals and I don’t want another woman taking over my kitchen.’

‘All right, darling, I’ll just have to put up with burnt offerings until you’ve finished the course.’

‘Now you’re being silly again,’ Jenny protested. ‘I can cook simple things. It’s just that I want to learn more. Look, that sign is pointing to Newcastle.’

‘We’ll be passing through it,’ Marcos said, and nearly three hours after leaving Nottingham, they did just that. After taking a left turn, Marcos was unsurprised to hear Jenny’s little squeal.

‘We’re going to Scotland!’

‘Yes, I thought that rather than just seeing it briefly
in the winter, it might be nice to explore some of the area now, to see it in the summer, even if it is a bit late in the season.’

Jenny smiled with delight. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea.’

They were close to the border now, but after so long on the road Marcos had had enough, glad that he’d had the foresight to plan an overnight stop. ‘There’s a hotel in Blaydon which isn’t far from here and I’ve arranged two rooms for the night.’

‘That’s nice,’ Jenny murmured.

Marcos glanced at Jenny, saw that she looked puzzled and wondered if she was working it out. If so, would she agree?

The hotel was lovely, her room too, and Jenny was enjoying relaxing in a bath. They’d be in Scotland again for their wedding in December, but Marcos was right, it would be lovely to see some of the area in the summer.

She soaked for a while, then washed and climbed out. Her tummy was rumbling and she was looking forward to dinner, thankful to find that the clothes she’d packed weren’t creased. They were going to eat at seven thirty and, as if on cue, there was a soft knock on her door.

‘I hope you’re ready, darling,’ Marcos said. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Jenny said, and taking his hand they
went down to the dining room. They were given a table for two, beautifully laid with fresh linen, and Marcos ordered their meal.

‘Jenny, you agreed we wouldn’t alter our wedding plans, but when your parents were pressuring you yesterday I thought you were wavering.’

‘No, I wasn’t, and I was glad when you stepped in to put a stop to it.’

‘I doubt they’ll give up,’ Marcos said as their first course arrived, ‘and I can’t say I’m happy about it.’

Jenny found the slivers of smoked salmon suddenly unappetising. She looked at Marcos, saw he was toying with his food too, and said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t change my mind.’

Marcos looked deep in thought, but then said, ‘I don’t like the idea of you putting up with four months of pressure, and I think I’ve come up with the ideal solution. We don’t have to wait until December to get married, we can bring the date forward. As we’ll be in Scotland tomorrow, what’s wrong with now?’

‘Now! But how?’

‘We aren’t registered just yet, but we can do that straightaway, stay in the area for three weeks, and then we can be married. Think about it, Jenny. We could return as man and wife.’

Jenny did think about it, but it didn’t take her long to reach a decision. Now, or in four months, what difference did it make? And Marcos was right,
it was the ideal way to stop any further pressure from her father, something she suspected would be increasingly hard to resist.

‘All right, Marcos, let’s do it.’

‘Darling, that’s wonderful. Now come on, let’s eat, and I’ll order a bottle of champagne to celebrate.’

He looked so happy and, with her appetite now restored, Jenny began to tuck in. It was a wonderful meal, but by the time she had finished it, along with the champagne, Jenny was feeling a little tipsy. She was glad of Marcos’s support when they went upstairs, and outside her bedroom door he kissed her. Jenny clung to him, her inhibitions dulled by champagne, and loving him so much that a need rose within.

‘Oh, Marcos,’ she husked.

‘No, Jenny,’ he said, gently pushing her away and unlocking the bedroom door. ‘You’ve had too much to drink and I don’t want to take advantage of you. Go to bed now, but soon, darling, soon you will be my wife.’

With a chaste kiss on her cheek, Marcos was gone, and feeling strangely let down Jenny threw off her clothes to climb into bed. She had never been with a man and didn’t really know what to expect, but she loved Marcos so much and yearned to find out.

Jenny hugged the pillow and thought about his parting words. Yes, they’d be married soon. She’d
be Mrs Jennifer Anne Cane…and children, they’d have children. A wonderful future beckoned, and, closing her eyes, Jenny fell asleep with a smile on her face.

‘There’s nothing from Jenny again. Not even a postcard,’ Edward said as he placed the morning post onto the table.

‘Robin is keen to see her, and to meet Marcos. He was disappointed that they weren’t back when he was here last weekend.’

‘I didn’t expect them to be away for so long.’

‘Perhaps they’ve gone abroad,’ Delia suggested as she rifled through the envelopes. She found a letter addressed to her and opened it eagerly. ‘It’s from Beatrice.’

Edward sat down. Delia was busy reading, but his mind was still on Marcos. He’d only met the man twice, and though his initial impression of him had been good, Edward now had a few niggling doubts. Marcos had been charming when they came to dinner, but while he’d told them a little about his business activities, along with his background,
Edward sensed that he’d disliked being questioned, especially when it came to his family.

‘Edward, this is wonderful,’ Delia said, glancing up from her letter. ‘Beatrice is coming home.’

‘That’s nice,’ he said automatically, still distracted by his thoughts. Marcos said that his parents had died when he was twenty-six, and as that must be well over ten years ago, his excuse that it distressed him to talk about them didn’t quite ring true.

‘Timothy has been given a post here and Beatrice hopes it’s going to be permanent. Oh, Edward, wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

‘Yes, very nice,’ he murmured.

‘Edward! Are you listening to me?’

‘Sorry. What did you say?’

‘What’s the matter with you? You’re miles away. I said my sister and her husband are coming home and, not only that, Timothy has been given a post in London.’

At last Edward focused on Delia. ‘When do they arrive?’

‘In November,’ Delia said, her eyes shining with delight.

Edward tried to arouse some enthusiasm. He hardly knew Beatrice or her husband, having only seen them about five times during the whole of his marriage to Delia. On those rare occasions he’d found Timothy pompous, and Beatrice an utter snob.

‘So, they’ll be here in a couple of months.’

‘Yes, well in time for the wedding,’ Delia enthused. ‘I’m worried though, Edward, there’s so little time to get all the arrangements in place. It was a stroke of luck that the Grand Hotel had a cancellation and that the vicar can do the service so close to Christmas. There’s still a lot more to do – the invitations, the flowers, and Jenny’s dress of course.’

‘Delia, I told you to wait. I know Marcos said he’d discuss it when they return, but they may still decide to marry in Scotland.’

‘He wouldn’t have said we’d discuss it if that was the case. Marcos is on our side, Edward, I’m sure of it, and let’s hope he’s working on Jennifer while they’re away.’

‘If you say so, and of course I hope you prove to be right.’

‘I will be, and as they are moving into Almond Crescent, I’m going to invite Penelope Grainger to the wedding. I’ll be able to introduce her to Timothy and she’s sure to be impressed that my brother-in-law is a diplomat.’

Edward had thought Beatrice a snob, but in reality Delia equalled her, judging people by their social position and wealth. He smiled wryly. It was just as well Jenny had met a man who was well set up, with the wherewithal to buy a house in Almond Crescent. If she’d chosen a dustman, goodness knows how Delia would have reacted.

‘What about Marcos?’ he asked. ‘How will he be received?’

‘Very well, I should think. Marcos is a successful businessman, as well as being handsome and charming.’

‘We know so little about his past and he wasn’t keen on enlightening us. In fact, all we know is that his father had a garage.’

‘Yes, I must admit it’s a little worrying. It hardly seems a wealthy background, but as Marcos avoids the subject it’s unlikely anyone will find out.’

‘I don’t see why it would matter if they did.’

‘Edward, you have no idea. One’s breeding is so important.’

‘He’s not a racehorse.’

‘Now you’re being silly.’

‘No, I’m not, Delia. You may want to hide it, but I want to know more about his background. Whether rich or poor, it doesn’t concern me. What does is his aversion to talking about his past. It’s almost as if he’s got something to hide.’

‘I didn’t get that impression and as we hardly know Marcos your judgement seems a little premature. Like all fathers, I doubt you think any man would be good enough for your daughter, and as such I think you’re just looking for faults.’

Edward was about to protest, but then paused to think. Jenny had been missing for over two years and it had been a joy to find her. He wanted her to
come home, but instead she was getting married and it felt almost like she was lost to him again. Was Delia right? Did he resent the fact that Marcos was now the most important man in his daughter’s life?
Was
it jealousy?

‘You may be right, Delia,’ Edward finally said.

‘Don’t worry, dear. I think where fathers are concerned it’s perfectly normal.’

Yes, perhaps it was, Edward thought, yet even though Delia had come up with a plausible reason for his worries, they refused to go away.

Marcos glanced at Jenny, saw how she was twiddling her wedding ring and smiled. It had been wonderful, over three weeks in Scotland, culminating in their marriage yesterday on Friday, the twenty-eighth of September. Last night, their wedding night, Jenny’s innocence had given him confidence, yet even so he’d feared losing it. He’d rushed it, lasting only minutes, but at least for the first time in years he’d managed a climax. Afterwards, and with no yardstick to judge him by, there’d been no derision from Jenny. It was just as he’d hoped, and now all he had to do was take the final step.

‘Are you happy, darling?’ he asked.

‘Yes, very.’

‘We’re on the outskirts of London now and we’ll soon be home.’

‘I can’t believe I started out with one suitcase, and I’m returning with three.’

‘The weather is changing and you needed some autumn clothing. It’s a shame there wasn’t much to choose from, but never mind, once we’re settled we’ll sort out the rest of your wardrobe,’ Marcos said automatically, well used to women wanting more clothes, jewellery or – lately – money.

‘There’s no need. You’ve already bought me so many lovely things.’

Marcos shot Jenny another glance. She actually meant it. She was unbelievable, wonderful, and deserved to be rewarded. ‘Those few bits were nothing.’

‘I don’t need anything else,’ she insisted. ‘I know we’re near London, but when are we moving into the house?’

‘Now, of course.’

‘But what about the furniture, and we haven’t got things like china, bed linen, curtains…’

‘Other than the curtains, everything’s in place.’

‘Already! But how did you manage that?’

‘I put someone onto it, and we can use the shutters until you select the curtains,’ Marcos said, but another quick glance at Jenny revealed she was frowning. ‘Look, I told you before: if things aren’t to your taste we’ll change them.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be fine, but I’ll have to go to my flat. I want to pick up the rest of my things, and of course tell the landlord I’m leaving.’

‘It can wait until tomorrow,’ Marcos said, heading for Wimbledon. He had things to do tomorrow too,
the last strings to cut. They had a shock coming and he was looking forward to seeing their faces.

Jenny glanced at Marcos as they drove up East Hill, unable to push away the memory of last night – their wedding night. She’d been nervous, yet excited, yet all there had been was a sharp pain, followed by a frantic coupling that had left Marcos gasping, but her feeling bewildered. She had gone into marriage knowing virtually nothing…but was that it? Was that all there was to the sexual act? Tina had only ever spoken about it in a derogatory manner, but after the hateful experiences she’d been through it was hardly surprising. Sue, on the other hand had once laughingly said that a ‘bit of nookie’, as she called it, was great, but fearful of appearing childish in her lack of experience, Jenny had never found the courage to bring up the subject again.

‘You’re miles away,’ Marcos said.

‘I was just thinking that we should stop to buy food and other essentials,’ Jenny fibbed. Though it was true, she realised: they would need some shopping.

‘That’s been taken care of too.’

‘It has? How?’

‘I rang ahead while you were in the bath this morning.’

‘Goodness, is it being delivered?’ Jenny asked.

‘Yes, in a way…but look, Jenny, we’re home,’ Marcos said as he turned into Almond Crescent.

He stopped the car, opened the gates, and Jenny couldn’t believe her eyes when they drove in. The trees had been pruned, the overgrown shrubbery cut back, and the house looked wonderful, the mullioned windows clean and sparkling as though in greeting. This was to be her home, and as Marcos parked the car she sat unmoving, unable to tear her eyes away from the facade.

‘Come on,’ Marcos said, smiling as he opened the passenger door. ‘I can’t wait to carry you over the threshold.’

Excited now, Jenny got out and Marcos picked her up to carry her inside. She blinked. There was the smell of lavender furniture polish, a large vase of flowers on the hall table, and her ears pricked when she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. Marcos kissed her before putting her down, and recovering her wits, Jenny asked in surprise, ‘Is someone here?’

‘Yes, but it’s only Edna.’

‘Edna?’

‘Edna Moon, our cleaner.’

‘But we don’t need a cleaner!’

‘This is a large house and I don’t want to turn you into a drudge.’

‘I don’t mind housework.’

Marcos looked exasperated and his tone was firm. ‘Nevertheless, Mrs Moon has been employed for two hours every morning to help you. She can take on the more arduous tasks while you, my darling,’ he
said, softening his voice again now, ‘can concentrate on learning how to cook, along with making yourself beautiful to greet me when I come home.’

For the first time Jenny was beginning to realise how different her life was going to be. She’d been a dishwasher, then a waitress, but now she’d be living in this large house, with a cleaner no less. Goodness, she’d be living like a lady, and as Mrs Moon appeared, Jenny at last smiled. If she had pictured a daily, Edna Moon certainly fitted the bill. The woman was even wearing a cotton coverall, her round face, though plain, was pleasant, with rosy cheeks and twinkling brown eyes. Jenny loved her on sight.

‘Mr Cane, you’re back.’

‘Yes, Edna, and this is my wife.’

‘Hello, dearie, it’s nice to meet you, and I hope you’re happy with what I’ve done. The kitchen is stocked up and things stowed away, but if it’s not to your liking you can change things round.’

Jenny smiled; she was already sure they’d get on. ‘It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Moon, and I’m sure I’ll be happy with everything.’

‘Call me Edna,’ she replied. Then, turning to Marcos, she said, ‘Mr Cane, I did what you asked and there’s a chicken casserole in the oven, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll be off now. My Tom will be home soon and looking for his dinner.’

‘Tom?’ Jenny said.

‘Yeah, me son.’

‘Of course you can go, Edna,’ Marcos said. ‘It was good of you to take on the extra work and hours. I’ll see you’re rewarded.’

‘It was no trouble. I’ll see yer in the morning, Mrs Cane. Bye for now.’

‘Goodbye,’ Jenny called, finding it strange to be addressed as Mrs Cane.

‘Come on, darling,’ Marcos said. ‘Let’s look around and then tuck into that casserole.’

‘It seems you thought of everything,’ Jenny said as she took his hand.

They went from room to room, Jenny unsure about the dark antique furniture, but Marcos seemed so pleased with everything that she said nothing. She’d brighten things up with soft furnishings, pretty ornaments and late flowers from the garden. For now though, the smell of chicken casserole was irresistible and soon they were seated in the dining room and eating their first meal together in their new home.

‘I suppose we’ll have to see your parents to break the news,’ Marcos said.

‘It can wait until tomorrow.’

‘They’re bound to want to see the house so we’ll invite them round, get it over with. However, I don’t want it to become a habit, Jenny.’

She was surprised by the hardness of his tone, which now turned to exasperation as he said, ‘This casserole is oversalted.’

It tasted fine to Jenny, but Marcos was very particular, and she began to worry that nothing she cooked would be to his tastes. ‘If you don’t like this, I dread to think what you’ll make of my efforts.’

‘I know you want to take lessons, and in the meantime anything simple will be fine.’

Jenny began to clear their plates while making a mental list of things she could cook. It was woefully short, but hopefully a few recipe books would help. She carried the china to the kitchen, began to fill the sink with water, but then Marcos came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I’m putting these things in water. I’ll make coffee then wash up.’

‘What do you think that is?’ he asked and as her eyebrows rose he nodded. ‘Yes, my sweet, a dishwasher.’

Jenny remembered the stacks of plates, saucepans and meat tins she used to have to tackle at the restaurant and said without thinking, ‘When I was washing dishes in your restaurant I could have done with one of those, but not now.’

Marcos’s face darkened. ‘Jenny, you are my wife, and as such I do not expect you to criticise me.’

‘But I’m not.’

‘You’re inferring that I treat my staff badly, that I treated
you
badly.’

‘No, no, Marcos. I just meant that with two of us
there’s hardly enough washing-up here to warrant loading the dishwasher.’

‘I see,’ he said, his face relaxing. ‘Then I’m sorry for misjudging you.’

‘That’s all right,’ Jenny said, though in truth she felt intimidated. There had been a few occasions in Scotland when Marcos had been volatile, usually because of what he saw as bad service, but his anger hadn’t been aimed at her. Now, though, it seemed he was hypersensitive to what he perceived as criticism and in future she would have to choose her words carefully.