Memories of You (15 page)

‘What's happening?' he asked. ‘Are we going somewhere?'

‘Of course we are. We can't stay here.'

‘Why ever not?'

‘You saw the letter. You know what's happened.' She stopped what she was doing and faced him angrily. ‘And you didn't even tell me. You just went to the office and left it for me to find and read by myself.'

‘I went out early. I didn't want to disturb you. And besides, it's sad but there's nothing we can do.'

‘About the wretched boys, no. They've run away from the best chance life gave them like ungrateful little guttersnipes. But it's not them I'm worried about.'

‘What then?'

‘The girl, of course. Their elder sister, Helen.'

‘But why? What has she done?'

‘Hugh! Did you actually read this letter?' Selma picked it up from her dressing table.

‘Yes.'

‘And also the letter that came with the belongings they left behind?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘If you had you would know why we are leaving.'

‘Let me see.'

Hugh sat down on the chair by the dressing table and read the letter that Selma thrust in his hand.

‘So?' Selma said. ‘Do you see what she told them?'

‘She told them a lot of things.'

‘Including the fact that she came here to spy on us.'

‘That's a bit strong. She probably just wanted to see if her little sister was all right. That's natural, isn't it?'

‘I told her aunt there must be no contact whatsoever.'

‘And at the time I thought that was a little harsh. I mean, why stop them seeing each other?'

‘Because Elise has settled in so well here and I want her to forget about her former life completely. I want her to become our daughter – think how unsettling it would be for her to have all those memories dragged up.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘I'm sure of it. So that's why we're going to London.'

Hugh turned to look in the mirrors of the dressing-table. The reflection of his wife moved about the room feverishly. It crossed his mind that she looked almost demented.

‘Selma, sit down a minute,' he said.

She stopped and looked at him impatiently. ‘Why?'

‘What you propose to do . . .' he gestured towards the heap of clothes on the bed, the tumble of shoes and handbags on the floor, ‘. . . all this is a little drastic, isn't it?'

She frowned, lost in thought, and then gave him her full attention. ‘You're right, Hugh, darling,' she said and for a moment he thought sanity had returned. She smiled. ‘Why on earth should I bother to take any but my favourites? I can buy whatever I want in London both for me and for Elise.'

Hugh's spirits sank again. ‘I didn't mean that. I mean this running away business. It isn't sa—I mean it isn't sensible.' He had almost said ‘sane'. ‘Just go and see the children's aunt.'

‘I intend to.'

‘Go and see her and tell her what has happened and that she must make sure that Helen doesn't come near our house again.'

Selma shook her head. ‘That won't do.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I don't trust her.'

‘Mrs Roberts?'

‘No, the girl. She didn't want me to take Elise, that was quite obvious, and didn't you read what she said in her letter?'

‘That she'd keep an eye on things?'

‘How dare she! But worse than that, she's promised the boys that one day they will all be together again. Oh, Hugh, don't you see? She intends to take Elise away from us!'

Selma suddenly collapsed on top of the pile of clothes on the bed and, heedless of the fact that the garment she sat next to was pure silk, she lifted up the sleeve and tried to stem her tears. Hugh was truly alarmed. He had accepted that his young wife was devoted to the child and he had been both pleased and amused when she encouraged him to enjoy the role of father. But this was more than devotion, it was obsession. He must face the prospect that Selma was mentally ill – or dangerously near to it.

He got up and went over to the bed, then sat beside her, taking her in his arms. She turned towards him and wept in earnest. He waited until her anguished sobs subsided then said gently, ‘Of course, my pet, you are right; we must go to live in London.'

She moved away from him and looked up through brimming tears. ‘And you will come with us?'

‘Of course. Why shouldn't I?'

‘You like living here. And there's the wretched office.'

He smiled at her. ‘I admit I am very firmly attached to my roots in the North Country, but I am even more attached to you, and as for the office, I can assure you that the premises in London are just as suitable for me to run the business from. In fact the board of directors would prefer it.'

‘Good.' Like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, Selma cast off her misery. She looked around at the chaos she had created. ‘Oh, dear, I've been very silly, haven't I?'

‘I wouldn't dream of saying such a thing.'

‘Of course you wouldn't. But I have. And now that everything is agreed between us I must go about this in a more organized way.'

Like a good child, Selma began to fold her clothes and hang them away again.

‘Leave that, darling,' Hugh said. ‘You don't have to do that. Isn't it time you popped along to the nursery to see if Elise has had her supper?'

‘Goodness – yes! She'll be waiting for her bedtime story.'

Selma darted out of the room without a backward glance, leaving Hugh feeling very anxious indeed. He accepted that he was so in love with her that he would do anything in his power to make her happy, but in agreeing that they should take this child in the first place had he unwittingly led them into dangerous waters?

The years of longing for and failing to conceive a child might have seriously affected her already fragile personality. They would go to London, it was the only way to calm her, but he would have to see Charles Harris before they left. Although he would not tell Selma.

Ignoring Selma's rule that he must not smoke in the bedroom, he took a cigarette from his case, lit up and took a long drag from it. When he exhaled he stared glumly through the bluish smoke. There was a question that had been haunting him from the moment Elise had come into their lives, darling Elise, whom he had found no difficulty in giving his heart to. She gave every indication of being happy with them, but what would happen if in years to come, when she was old enough to understand what had happened, she found out that it was their car that had run down and killed her mother?

 

At first Jane Roberts felt pleased and honoured when Eva announced that there was a Mrs Partington at the door. ‘Well, show her in here, girl. You mustn't keep a lady like that waiting on the step.'

In the short interval before Mrs Partington swept into the room, Helen's aunt hurried to the window, edged the lace curtain aside and looked with satisfaction at the expensive motor car parked in the street outside her house. She hoped earnestly that the neighbours were watching.

‘In here, madam,' she heard Eva say.

She moved away from the window quickly. ‘Mrs Partington,' she said, ‘how nice of you to call.'

Her guest didn't respond but simply regarded her coldly.

‘Erm . . . Can I offer you a cup of tea?'

‘No. And for goodness' sake tell the girl to leave us.'

Eva was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed as she regarded the slim, elegantly dressed woman who was, she had just decided, the most beautiful creature she had ever seen – even if she did have a temper on her. For Eva had realized, even if it had not dawned on the missus yet, that this woman was wound up tight with fury.

‘Off you go, Eva,' Jane Roberts said. ‘I'll – erm – I'll ring if you are needed.'

Reluctantly the maid withdrew.

‘Well, what have you to say for yourself?' Mrs Partington said as soon as the door clicked shut.

‘Say for myself? I'm not sure what you mean.'

Selma Partington glared at her. ‘The boys – those wretched twins. Surely you know they have run away?'

Jane Roberts experienced what people called a sinking feeling. Something had gone terribly wrong and she sensed that there was more to come. Suddenly her breath caught in her throat. She stumbled towards an armchair and sank down. With great effort she remembered her manners and waved vaguely towards the other chair. ‘Forgive me,' she said. ‘Won't you sit?'

‘I prefer to stand.'

That was a pity. It meant that Jane had to crane her neck and look up at the terrifying woman who was standing over her. ‘What have they done?' she asked and when Mrs Partington simply scowled at her she said, ‘The boys, what have they done?'

‘I've told you. They've run away from Haven House.'

‘Nobody told me. But why? Have they . . . have they done something wrong? Have they stolen something?' She shrank into herself when she saw that Mrs Partington was growing even angrier.

‘I have no idea why they ran away. As far as I know, they have committed no crime or we would have been told. It's what they left at Haven House that is important.'

‘Left?'

‘Apparently they went in such a hurry that they left everything behind them. When their lockers were searched this letter was found.' Mrs Partington opened her handbag, took out a letter and handed it over. ‘Read it.'

‘Yes – thank you – but you're, erm . . . standing in my light.'

To Jane's enormous relief her visitor at last sat down in the chair opposite to her, but Mrs Partington never took her gaze from her as she fumbled with the envelope and began to read the letter. She saw her own address on the first page. ‘But I didn't . . .' she began.

‘Turn to the last page. Look at the signature.'

‘It's from Helen,' Jane Roberts said. ‘I didn't know she'd written to them. Is that why you're angry?'

‘Read it.'

It didn't take her long to realize why Mrs Partington was so angry. ‘She came to your house,' she said.

‘I told you specifically that there was to be no contact.'

‘I know. I agreed. I hope you don't think I put her up to it.'

‘Actually I don't.'

Jane Roberts breathed a sigh of relief but the respite was shortlived.

‘But nevertheless I hold you responsible. She actually told her brothers that she would continue to “keep an eye on things” as she put it.'

‘I'm sorry. I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again.'

‘It's no use. You obviously can't control the girl. Our arrangement must come to an end.'

 

Ginger faced Mr Ridley, Mr Jenkins and a large policeman in uniform in the headmaster's study. He had been the last to be called. That was because he had been the last to sign in after the run. He knew from the gossip that no one else had any idea what had happened and he had his story ready.

‘So you're absolutely sure you saw nothing?' the policeman asked.

‘No, sir. Well . . .' he hesitated as he had planned.

‘Well?' Mr Jenkins asked impatiently.

‘I did see Tod Walker ahead of me. Then I didn't.'

‘Make sense, boy!'

‘The mist was coming and going. At one point he was there. The mist came in. I stopped – and when the mist cleared again he wasn't there. I thought he must have gone on while I was coughing.'

‘Coughing?'

‘Yes, sir. You know I have a bad chest.'

‘And you saw no one else?'

‘No one, sir. Tod and me are usually the last home. I thought he'd beaten me to it this time.'

‘What about the Norton boys?'

‘The twins? Oh, they're pretty fit. They would be among the first home.' Well, what he said hadn't been a lie, he thought, and they didn't seem to realize that he hadn't really answered the question. And then he wondered again which twin it had been whom he had seen scuffling with Tod Walker, and how they had arranged to sign in. Probably whoever got home first had signed for both of them. Knowing those two that would have been easy enough to arrange.

‘And what did you think when you realized he hadn't returned?' the policeman asked.

‘Who?'

‘Tod Walker, of course,' Mr Jenkins barked.

‘I didn't think anything. I mean, I just didn't know, did I?'

Ginger put on what he hoped was a gormless look and was rewarded with an impatient shake of the head by Mr Jenkins and a weary sigh from Mr Ridley. The policeman closed his notebook and said, ‘Well, I think that's about it. You can go now, lad.'

 

‘An accident, then?' Mr Ridley said to Mr Jenkins after the policeman had gone.

‘It seems so.'

‘We will still attract censure.'

‘Why?'

‘We shouldn't have sent them out in such conditions.'

‘No.'

‘And the Norton boys?'

‘Runaways. It happens. They didn't realize how lucky they were. Good riddance to them.'

Mr Ridley didn't reply. He was thinking about the sum of money that Hugh Partington would no longer contribute. He eyed his assistant headmaster thoughtfully. He knew himself to be totally unfitted to run such an establishment as Haven House and he wondered if it was time to find someone more dedicated than Jenkins to be his deputy. It probably was.

 

‘You stupid, stupid girl! What were you thinking of?'