Memories of You (29 page)

 

 

Matthew kissed me tonight. Kissed me in a way I have wanted him to do for a long time. And it was wonderful. If I were the heroine of a romantic novel my heart would be singing and I would be overcome with joy. Well, I am overcome, but not just with the knowledge that he feels something for me.

Why did it have to happen now? Why did he have to make his feelings plain on the night when I saw my darling sister for the first time since she was a child? She has grown so beautiful and she looks so happy. For the first time I have serious doubts about the effect it would have on her to remind her of the past. I would not want to be the one to threaten her secure if precious little world.

So tonight when I should be lying in bed and reliving the wonderful sensation of being in Matthew's arms, I am torn between relishing my love for him and the bittersweet joy of having seen my sister.

I can hardly believe that a year has gone by since I first met Matthew's parents and that I was so apprehensive of spending Christmas Day with them. This time I actually stayed overnight so I have two days' diary entries to write up.

The restaurant was so busy that Marina said I had to work on Christmas Day. Well, I didn't have to but I felt sorry for Stefano. However, I only stayed until the lunch menu was over. Once I'd helped set up the tables for the evening meals I made a dash for home to bathe and change into my glad rags. Matthew was already waiting, sitting in his car outside the flat, working on some notes for his column. He was pleased to see me, as ever, but he seemed a little distracted.

‘What is it? Won't the right words come?' I asked him before I headed for the bathroom.

‘No, it's nothing to do with my work.'

‘That doesn't sound very convincing.'

‘Well, perhaps it is. But on the other hand I could just be imagining things.'

‘Oh, Matthew,' I said, ‘fancy starting to tell me something like this now! Look, your mother has been good enough to have the meal later than usual, just so that I can join you. I'll have to get ready, but promise me we'll talk in the car on the way there.'

We did. Matthew told me he thought he was being followed. If that was the case it would almost certainly be something to do with his job as a crime reporter. I mean, he isn't being dunned for debt or anything! And his description of the person that he thought was following him didn't seem to fit that of a debt collector.

A young man, he told me. Little more than a boy. From the glimpses he'd caught of him the youth was good-looking and well dressed in a slightly flash way. I knew that Matthew is far too astute to make connections where there are none so I took what he said seriously. I asked him if he thought it could be connected with any of the crime stories he was investigating. Any one of them, he told me, but the thing that worried him most was that he had caught sight of the youth in the street where my flat was.

When we pulled up outside his parents' house he took me in his arms and said, ‘I would never forgive myself if harm came to you because of me. When Christmas is over we'll have to have a serious talk about this.'

Patricia had done most of the cooking this year and she was gratified when I told her how much I had enjoyed the meal. It was true, she was as good at cooking as she was at everything else, and I'm sure the baby she is expecting will have the perfect mother.

I think she has accepted that Matthew and I are a couple but I'm not sure if she has accepted me.

That night I stayed with them and I had the distinct impression that Patricia was patrolling the corridors to make sure that Matthew did not sneak along to my room. She needn't have worried. We haven't done ‘that' yet. Not because I wouldn't but because he has this idea that he would be taking advantage of a girl so much younger than he is. He wants to wait until I'm sure. Sometimes I fantasize that I'll have my hand-embroidered silk underwear decorated all over with the slogan, ‘I'm sure!'

This morning was a bit of a trial. The Renshaws held their usual Boxing Day open house and I had to meet their friends and neighbours. Most of the women glanced at my bare wedding finger and I knew that Mrs Renshaw would have loved to introduce me as her son's fiancée but, as yet, we are not officially engaged. Matthew has this crazy idea that I am still young enough to meet someone else and change my mind. That's something else I want to discuss after Christmas!

I had the whole day off from work today but we didn't go to a pantomime this year. We went to the pictures to see
Scrooge
. It was all right, I suppose, although Seymour Hicks was far too old to play the part of the young Scrooge as well as the old, and I was disappointed that we didn't see the ghosts, only heard their voices. There was no excuse to cuddle up to Matthew and shiver with pretend fright.

We came back here for supper. Mrs Renshaw had packed a hamper for us and I'm sure it was as luxurious as anything to be found at Fortnum and Mason. As we nibbled brandy mince pies and sipped glasses of my favourite Madeira wine, we had our serious talk. Matthew tried to persuade me, as he has before, that I should move. He says that his friends at the office are good at nosing out reasonably low-cost accommodation in what he deems the better parts of town and he would help me find somewhere. He can't understand why I am so reluctant to move. Neither can I if the truth be told.

This flat is far from lovely. It isn't even particularly comfortable. Perhaps I stay because it's the first home I made for myself after my mother died. Leaving the house I had grown up in and moving to Aunt Jane's was unspeakably cruel. Here in London Dorothy made me welcome in her carelessly welcoming way and I suppose I made a little nest for myself. The fact that she spent so little time here made the place my own.

So, whatever Matthew says, here I will stay. Until the time comes to look for a place we can live in together, that is.

Note to self: Be observant. When I leave the flat look out for good-looking young man who may be watching the place.

Note to self: Just realized I haven't heard from Eva for a while. Must go back over her letters and check the date. I shouldn't think much has changed at Aunt Jane's house but I suppose I ought to make sure that everything is all right. (I'm sure I don't know why!)

 

 

I've told him. After a hectic night at Stefano's Matthew and I went back to my little flat in time to greet the New Year together with a bottle of pink champagne. We put the wireless on and as soon as Big Ben had stopped striking Matthew kissed me and then opened the champagne. He filled the glasses, and after the first delicious sip of the sparkling wine he wanted to kiss me again but I stepped back.

‘It's time you knew,' I said. ‘I've been leading a double life.'

He looked puzzled and not a little worried so I hurried on to tell him that as well as being a waitress in Stefano's, I was also a writer and that I had a regular column in a magazine called
Potpourri
.

I wish I'd had a camera to record his reactions. But I remember every expression that crossed his face and every word he spoke. Surprise was quickly followed by delight. And then he gave a shout of triumph. ‘I've seen that magazine!' he said. ‘Don't tell me – you must be the writer of the À La Carte feature. You are, aren't you?'

I nodded.

‘I should have guessed.'

‘I'm glad you didn't,' I said. ‘I was told to keep it secret.'

Then Matthew took my champagne glass from my hand and put it down, along with his, on the table. ‘My clever, clever darling,' he said and he began to kiss me over and over again.

Every time I drew breath I tried to tell him that he must keep this revelation to himself and that I must remain anonymous.

‘Of course I'll keep your secret,' he said at last. ‘Although it will be very hard. I'd like the whole world to know how accomplished you are.'

And then he demanded to see all the back numbers of
Potpourri
that I had and he settled down in front of the fire to read the À La Carte pieces and various other features that I'd written. We finished the champagne and nibbled the canapés Stefano had given me but we hardly spoke to each other. Every now and then Matthew would laugh or exclaim with delight. I could not have wished for a more appreciative critic. He read for hours until at last he said that as I had to go to work in a few hours' time he would tear himself away.

He hugged me tenderly and told me to try and get some sleep. It was not the way I had wanted the evening to end.

 

Daily Chronicle, 23rd January 1936
DOG TRACK GAMBLING RING?
Matthew Renshaw
Crime Correspondent

Questions are being asked by bookmakers about a number of suspicious bets. For some time now there has been a series of unusual and highly risky wagers. For example, at one dog track several punters placed bets on two races and named dogs in each to come first and second. The named dogs duly came first and second.

Urine samples were taken from the dogs and proved to be negative. They had not been doped. Not this time. But the police remain convinced that some other method had been used to nobble the dogs and so does this reporter.

Big money is involved here, attracting gangsters and casting a shadow over what should be a harmless enough night out for working people.