Memories of You (26 page)

‘Thanks a lot!'

‘It's just that you're so . . . so . . . guarded, not to say secretive. You come back here after work and you write in your diary and that's about it. You never have a good gossip with the rest of us.'

‘That's not true! We have many a laugh at work and I enjoy the banter as much as anyone else.'

Dorothy looked at her speculatively. ‘Yes, you do. But I always get the impression that you're watching and remembering things, and I bet you anything you like that you write it all down in that blessed diary.' Dorothy's eyes widened and she laughed. ‘Why, you might even be a secret agent of some sort. A spy. Stefano's would be just the place to send you.'

‘What on earth do you mean?'

‘All the people who meet there. The refugees from all over Europe. They're not all friendly or grateful to be here. Cyril said some of them are positively subversive. He says these are troubled times we're living in. Storm clouds gathering over Europe and all that.'

‘He may be right, but I assure you I'm not a spy.'

Even as she said this Helen wondered if that was true. She certainly wasn't a foreign agent but in a funny way she was spying on her fellow human beings. She had done this as long as she could remember. She was an onlooker, someone who maybe felt slightly like an outsider, different enough to be able to observe and record all the terrible and wonderful things that people did.

‘Well, I must say, Helen, you've taken this well.'

‘Why shouldn't I? I'm really pleased for you.'

And I am, Helen thought. But I'm also wondering about the present Mrs Barker and whether she still loves her errant husband. And the children . . . how will they feel about their father leaving home?

‘I meant that you've taken it well that I'm leaving the flat,' Dorothy said.

‘When will you be going?'

‘As soon as possible. And that's another thing, I wonder if you'd mind helping me pack up.'

‘Of course I'll help.'

‘I'm not taking everything. I won't need the pots and pans. And I'll be leaving some of my clothes. Some of them are a little outdated. You can have them if you like.'

‘Your outdated clothes?'

‘Don't look like that. I didn't mean to offend you. Just an alteration here and there and you could bring them bang up-to-date. You know I've said it before, I wish you would care more about your appearance. Especially now that Matthew Renshaw has taken notice of you at last. Although, come to think of it, he's not exactly a fashion plate, is he, in his schoolmasterly tweed jacket with its leather patches?'

Helen would have liked to have said that in her opinion Matthew's jacket was made from very good tweed and that furthermore she didn't think there was anything wrong with her own appearance, and that Dorothy's taste in fashion was not hers. However, she decided not to take offence. After all, if she was going to live on her own there was no reason now why she could not spend some of her earnings on really good clothes. Dorothy would never see them.

Something occurred to Helen. ‘Will you continue to work at Stefano's?'

‘For a while, but once we're married Cyril doesn't really want his wife to be working as a waitress. In fact he doesn't want me to work at all. The aim is to find a nice little house in a respectable neighbourhood and be Mr and Mrs Suburbia. That's how he puts it. He wants us to be respectable.' Suddenly Dorothy couldn't meet Helen's eyes.

‘Is that what you want?'

‘Of course. What kind of girl do you take me for? I haven't just been having a good time, you know. I really love him.'

‘Of course you do.'

Dorothy yawned. ‘I'm beat. I'll have an early night – early for me, I mean.' She grinned. ‘And no doubt you'll want to get back to your scribbling.' She got up and headed for the door where she paused. ‘Goodnight, Helen. We'll start sorting things out tomorrow.'

 

That conversation took place on the Wednesday and Dorothy was gone by Saturday. She had taken the next two days off work and she spent Christmas Eve settling into her new home. Helen wasn't invited – not then nor for some nebulous date in the future. It seemed as though Dorothy was already cutting ties with the life she wanted to leave behind.

Helen had worked a split shift on the Saturday and during her time off she walked along Oxford Street to shop for clothes. She had no intention of altering and adapting the clothes Dorothy had left behind. They would all go to the Salvation Army or one of the Refugee Centres.

She took her cheque book with her but she had no real idea of what sort of clothes she would need for a visit to Matthew's house. His sister had been a sports teacher; was her taste spare and spartan? His mother was something of an academic; did she favour cardigans and yet more tweed? No, Matthew had told her that Mrs Renshaw frequented the theatre and the cinema and that she and his father loved to dine in good restaurants.

Dine! Oh, no. Did the wretched family change for dinner? In despair she thought of Charlotte. Jocelyn Graves' niece might dress casually for work but she came from the kind of background where the women would know exactly what to wear at any time of day and for any sort of visit. Glancing at her watch, Helen hurried along to the office in Russell Square and raced up the stairs.

Charlotte and Jocelyn were testing a cake recipe. That is, they were just about to cut into a pink confection that Charlotte had baked the night before. Charlotte looked up and grinned. ‘Want a piece?' she asked. ‘If it's any good Jocelyn is going to let me have a cookery column.'

‘I haven't time,' Helen said. ‘I want you to come shopping with me.'

When Helen explained her dilemma Jocelyn smiled and said, ‘Charlotte, you'll have to go. We'll sample the cake later. I promise I'll wait for you.'

Charlotte took control. ‘How much do you want to spend?' she asked.

‘Whatever it takes.'

‘A girl after my own heart. Let's go!'

Charlotte grabbed her coat and on the way down the stairs she said, ‘We haven't time to go from shop to shop, so I suggest we go to Selfridges where we can get everything you need and where the customer is always right. Is that OK?'

Helen smiled her agreement.

Just a little later as they entered the store Charlotte asked Helen what she knew about the Renshaws and Helen could only repeat the sparse details she knew.

‘Never mind,' Charlotte said. ‘That will do. You want a classic day dress, something a little longer than you usually wear and of a very simple cut. Smoky blue, I think, to match your eyes. They won't be expecting you to change for dinner otherwise your beau would have told you.'

Helen flushed. ‘He's not my beau and I wouldn't bank on him having told me. He can be a little absent-minded.'

‘Even so, he will have had instructions from his mother. I'm guessing he's been well brought up.'

When they were both satisfied with the dress Charlotte said, ‘And now the coat. I take it you're not going to turn up in that serviceable flannel you usually wear?'

Helen shook her head.

‘Good, because the dress we've chosen has a coat to go with it. We won't have to agonize over what will be a good match.'

The coat was a wrap-over with wide revers and a belt. When Helen tried it on Charlotte stepped forward and showed her how to turn the collar up behind, ‘To frame your face,' she said. ‘Hurry up, handbag and shoes next, and why not treat yourself to a pack of silk stockings? Gosh, Helen, I'm enjoying this.'

When Charlotte was satisfied that they had thought of everything she left Helen to pay for her purchases and, excusing herself, said she had to go to the powder room. But when she came back she handed Helen a small leather case. ‘Present from me,' she said.

Helen opened it to find a simple string of pearls with matching clip-on stud earrings.

‘Don't say anything daft like, “You shouldn't have done!”' Charlotte instructed. ‘And now you'd better ask them to send this lot along to the office. You obviously won't want them to be delivered to Stefano's. You can pick them up tomorrow. See you later,' she added. ‘I'll save some cake for you.'

 

When she was back at work Helen began to wonder whether she should have bought presents for Matthew's family but decided that that might seem a little presumptuous. After all, Matthew was not her beau as Charlotte had called him. She wasn't quite sure what he was. Certainly a friend, and he definitely didn't seem to have any other woman in his life. Or if he did, that woman would surely have complained by now about the amount of time he was spending with Helen.

He took her to the pictures, they visited art galleries and museums, they sat in coffee shops and watched the world go by as they talked, but apart from holding her hand and kissing her forehead or her cheek when he took her home, Matthew had never attempted to take the romance any further. Once when she had asked him in for coffee he had smiled and murmured, ‘Better not.'

She had been so embarrassed, so worried that he would think her forward, that she had not asked him again. What was she to make of it? All she knew was that, unsatisfactory as this state of affairs was, she would be totally bereft if he did not seek her company.

When Helen went to the office in Russell Square to collect her new clothes she asked Charlotte's advice again. ‘Why don't you take something along for the table,' Charlotte said. ‘Flowers, chocolates, a bottle of wine are the usual sort of things, but you can be more original than that.'

‘Can I?'

‘Buy some of those nutty cinnamon biscuits dipped in spiced honey that Stefano serves with coffee. The ones you've brought here now and then. Put them in a cake box and scatter a bit of icing sugar over them. That will do very nicely. And, Helen, do try to enjoy yourself. You look as though you're going to the gallows rather than a jolly good lunch on Christmas Day.'

Jocelyn laughed and Charlotte asked her why.

‘We don't know what the lunch will be like, do we? But I can understand why Helen is apprehensive. You feel out of your depth, don't you?' she asked Helen directly.

‘I do. I'm not sure if I'll know how to behave.'

‘Of course you will,' Jocelyn said. ‘You will simply be yourself. You are intelligent, observant and adaptable enough to deal with any situation you find yourself in. I'm sure Matthew's family will be charmed with you. Oh, I've been meaning to ask you.' Her supportive smile changed into a frown.

‘What is it?'

‘Have you told Matthew that you write for us?'

‘No. You said I must remain anonymous.'

‘I did, but that was before you had a boyfriend.'

‘He's not my boyfriend.'

‘You sound uncertain about that. But anyway, he's a friend. You must have been tempted to tell him more about yourself.'

‘I've thought about it but somehow it would seem like boasting, wouldn't it?'

Jocelyn smiled. ‘Helen, you're priceless. But I'm glad you haven't told him yet, although one day I suppose you must. When you're more certain about whether he's your boyfriend, that is.'

Before she left the office Charlotte bemoaned the fact that she would have to spend Christmas helping with a clutch of small brothers, sisters and cousins at the family home in Kensington. Jocelyn sympathized and announced smugly that she was going for three days to her cottage in Cornwall with a hamper from Harrods, a bottle of good Scotch and a clutch of detective novels, including the latest by Margery Allingham and Dorothy L. Sayers. It didn't occur to Helen until much later to wonder whether Jocelyn Graves would be going to her cottage alone.

 

There was no dog racing on Christmas Day and Myra cooked dinner not only for her lodgers but also for one or two of Raymond's friends, including Dr Balodis. Danny had never been able to work out whether Myra and Raymond were actually married. Certainly the owner of the dog track spent a lot of time at the boarding house and when he did they shared a bedroom, but there were also periods when he went missing. Although he always turned up at the track in time for the night's events.

He must have told Myra that he wouldn't be there on Christmas Day, so on the Sunday she started taking a drink or two to console herself. She wasn't a miserable drunk; on the contrary she got merrier and merrier, so by the next day, which was Christmas Eve, there was a party atmosphere in the house as she dragooned anyone who arrived to help with the preparations for the grand feast she was preparing. A feast that Raymond would always regret having missed, she declared.

Myra got Joe to start making the sausage meat and apple stuffing, and when Danny saw how his brother responded to Myra's motherly ways he ached with longing for the years gone by when the food had not been so plentiful but their mother's love had been allencompassing.

Dr Balodis's contribution to the occasion was a Christmas tree. While Danny helped him decorate it with wooden angels and tinsel, the doctor told him his name was Alberts – with an ‘s' – and that Livonia was the home of the first Christmas tree. Danny remembered learning at school that the first Christmas tree had been put up in Riga, the capital of Latvia, hundreds of years ago, but the history of that part of the world was so complicated that he decided to give the doctor the benefit of the doubt.

On Christmas morning he heard Myra go downstairs very early, no doubt to put the pudding on to steam. He waited until he heard her tottering back upstairs and then, while Joe slept on, he got dressed and slipped out of the house. He made his way to Kilburn. It was still dark and Danny was used to taking advantage of the shadows. He was waiting in a doorway opposite the house where Helen had her flat when Helen's friend called for her. He had come in a car. Helen didn't invite him up – it seemed she never did – but she was dressed and ready to go when she opened the door.