Memories of You (32 page)

‘Outrageous snobs.'

Dorothy looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, that's what she thinks.'

‘And Cyril? What does he have to say?'

‘Cyril says she's very welcome.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.'

‘But she's made her mind up, I'm afraid. And I'm worried about her. She's lived on her own since Dad died and I think she's getting pretty weary of working in that café.' Dorothy sighed. ‘But the rent has to be paid and even if it didn't she says going out to work is better than sitting at home alone all day.'

Dorothy stared ahead bleakly and Helen felt truly sorry for her. She remembered Margery very well; how kind she had been when Helen was a schoolgirl going to the Cosy Café for her lunch with her ninepence a day. It was because of Margery that Helen had found this very flat when she came to London. She wished there was something she could do.

‘I think you'll just have to go on trying to persuade her,' she told Dorothy. ‘And you must write every week. You know that.'

‘Yes, I do, and I'm ashamed to admit I haven't been writing to her regularly up until now. I'm not like you, forever scribbling away.' She smiled. ‘Shall I write to you? I mean, if I did, would you answer my letters?'

‘Of course I would.'

‘I will then. I shall order a leather writing case from the Army and Navy Stores and I shall sit on the veranda of my new home with a cool drink and when I've finished the letters and sealed the envelopes I shall give them to the houseboy to take to the post office. There's always a houseboy in the movies, isn't there?'

Helen looked at her former flatmate speculatively. ‘Dorothy,' she said, ‘promise me you won't become an outrageous snob yourself.'

Dorothy laughed. ‘I promise.'

Helen wasn't so sure.

 

The talk of letters reminded Helen that Aunt Jane's maid, Eva, had not replied to her own letters for some time now. She had no idea why this bothered her. After all, Aunt Jane meant nothing to her, did she? At work that evening her mind kept returning to those unhappy days after her mother had died. Her mother's sister had shown no true sympathy. Neither had she shown any love for the children; she had simply done her duty and, what's more, had probably profited from her arrangement with the Partingtons. Helen tried to convince herself that she should leave the matter alone but, annoyingly, her conscience wouldn't let her.

By the time she got home that night she had decided what she was going to do.

 

A sudden shower had sent the customers at the outside tables hurrying into the café in the park. Some carried their own cups and plates; some left everything for the waitresses. Elise took a table near the window and smiled up at Perry, who was still holding the cake stand he had rescued. He sat down and proffered the cakes.

‘Another cream cake, Elise?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘The meringue, the chocolate éclair, or the strawberry tart?'

‘Oh, the meringue. I love them!'

‘So it seems. I think you've had one every day this week. But what will your mother say if you can't eat your tea?'

‘Nothing at all. She'll be in the nursery with Bertie. I don't think she's even noticed that I'm taking longer to get home from school.'

‘You're not taking much longer,' Perry protested. His smile was rueful. ‘I get little more than an hour of your company and then you have to go, just like Cinderella.'

‘Except I'm not wearing a ball gown and glass slippers. Only this foul school uniform and sensible shoes.'

‘But you still look enchanting!'

‘Don't talk like that. It's embarrassing.'

‘But why? It's true, you know.'

Elise looked down at her plate and, putting her cake fork aside, she took the meringue in her hands and broke it gently into two sugar-spun halves to reveal the generous dollop of cream in the middle.

‘Go on,' Perry said. ‘Eat the cream with your teaspoon. I know you want to.'

Elise savoured the cream for a moment and then continued. ‘I never know whether you're serious or just making fun of me.'

‘Why on earth would I make fun of you?'

‘Oh, I don't know. It's the way you are. Shirley says you're very much the joker and that you take nothing seriously. You never have.'

‘That's true. Until now. You're a really sweet kid, Elise. I would never make fun of you.'

‘A kid? A child? Is that the way you see me?'

‘I use the term loosely,' he said. And then he was silent for so long that Elise began to regret asking the question. When he spoke he reached across the table for her hand and said, ‘I don't see you as a child. I see you for what you are. A beautiful young woman.'

Elise looked down at his hand resting on hers. It was a large hand with long, well-manicured fingers. Underneath its gentle pressure she curled her own hand up, worrying about the traces of paint she had not removed successfully after the art class. Suddenly Perry's grasp became more firm.

‘You haven't told Shirley that we're meeting, have you?'

‘No. I've told no one. If my mother found out she'd only try to stop me seeing you.'

Perry withdrew his hand. ‘And why is that?'

‘Well, you know . . . she'd say that I was too young to have . . . I mean . . .'

‘A boyfriend?'

Elise, who didn't know if Perry regarded himself as her boyfriend or not, was overcome with embarrassment. She managed to whisper, ‘Yes,' and then, her courage returning, she added, ‘If that's what you are?'

‘Elise, look at me.' He was smiling. ‘Is that what you'd like me to be?'

‘That's not fair!'

‘Why not?'

‘You're asking me to say what I want without saying what you want.'

‘Elise, I'm nearly six years older than you are.'

‘That's nothing.'

‘Yes it is when you are only sixteen. And no matter what I want, I have to make sure that you know what you're doing.'

‘I do.'

Perry didn't say anything. He called the waitress over and ordered another pot of tea. Elise watched how the woman reacted to him. Wherever they went he got admiring glances and smiles from women, some of them old enough to be his mother. He flirted with them; Elise didn't think he could help himself, that's why it had been difficult for her to take him seriously.

Even so she believed she was wiser than he gave her credit for. She wondered if he knew the other reason she had wanted to keep their meetings secret. Whether or not her parents considered her to be old enough to have a boyfriend, there remained the fact that they would probably not consider the impecunious Perry Wallace remotely suitable. She didn't want to hurt him by telling him so.

The shower was brief but it had been heavy enough to refresh the leaves of the trees and the flowerbeds in the dusty park. Raindrops still ran down the window of the café, their reflections making patterns on the tablecloth. Perry glanced at his wristwatch.

‘You'd better take a taxi,' he said. ‘We're a little later than usual.'

‘I don't have any money with me,' Elise replied.

‘For goodness' sake, I wouldn't expect you to pay your own cab fare. What do you take me for?'

Perry summoned the waitress and settled the bill, then they left the café and hurried along the rain-washed paths to the entrance of the park. It didn't take long to hail a cab and, to Elise's surprise, Perry got in with her. He gave the driver the name of a street that was just round the corner from where Elise lived.

‘Just to be safe,' he said as he settled back to sit beside her.

She stared straight ahead. He had told her he was her boyfriend. It was official. What would he do? Would he try to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her? To her relief all he did was take her hand and hold it tightly. When the cab drew up he said quietly, ‘Tomorrow as usual?'

‘Mmm.'

‘My own little darling,' he said, then he leaned towards her and brushed her lips very softly with his own.

Elise stared after the cab as it drove away. Her heart was racing and she was slightly out of breath. She began to walk home slowly, savouring the feeling of excitement the kiss had aroused within her. She wondered where and when Perry would kiss her again.

 

Perry paid off the cab as soon as he saw an underground station. Money was shorter than ever and he had spent more than his budget could stand on the simple treats of afternoon teas in the modest cafés and teashops he and Elise had visited since they had started seeing each other.

In the past, in pursuit of older, more sophisticated females, he had had to cough up for dinner, the theatre, nightclubs and even trips to Paris, so he shouldn't really complain. Except that now he was under a great deal of pressure to settle certain gambling debts. He had promised those concerned that his situation was about to change and that if they only gave him time he would be able to pay back everything he owed.

The problem was that she was far too young. Not too young to get married legally but too young to be judged by her family and friends to be capable of making a sensible choice. When he had first thought of Elise Partington as a suitable bride he had imagined a gradual courtship, waiting to propose if necessary until she was twenty-one and could marry without her parents' consent.

But the matter had become urgent. And as Hugh Partington would never agree to their marriage, there were only two things Perry could do: get her pregnant, or elope to Gretna Green and present her parents with a fait accompli.

Even though a romantic elopement would involve another input of cash that he didn't have, he favoured that rather than the caddish act of simply seducing the poor girl. She was so dammed innocent. When he had kissed her just now he had felt nothing. She was so beautiful and yet he found she did not appeal to his senses in the slightest. He was used to older, more experienced women; he could not remember when he had last made love to a virgin, or even if he had. As far as Perry was concerned Elise Partington was beautiful without being in the least desirable, and yet he would have to forge ahead with his plan, and much sooner than he had wanted to. Otherwise he thought it no exaggeration to speculate that his life could be in danger.

 

Matthew heard the laughter as he climbed the stairs leading to the office on the top floor. Now that he knew Helen's secret he was an approved visitor to the offices of
Potpourri
. He liked the editor Jocelyn Graves very much and he thought her niece Charlotte great fun. It hadn't taken him long to see how fond Helen was of both of them. In fact they seemed to have taken the place of the family she never talked about.

The magazine was doing well and a visit to the office was usually a jolly affair. When Charlotte was trying out new recipes for her cookery column he was offered cakes or savouries, and sometimes even some sort of casserole put together in their tiny kitchen on an ancient gas cooker which must have been in the house since the top floor was given over to the maidservants.

Today he could hear the tinkle of glasses and he hoped he wasn't going to be asked to sample one of Charlotte's dreadful homemade wines. Then, just before he reached the top step, he heard the unmistakeable pop of a champagne cork and the exuberant cheers of whoever was in the room.

The door was ajar as usual and he pushed it open to see Charlotte pouring the sparkling wine into a set of champagne flutes set out on an old tin tray which itself was perched precariously on top of a pile of manuscripts on her desk. She turned her head as he entered and, seeing who it was, grinned happily.

‘Come in, Matthew,' she said. ‘You're just in time to join the celebration.'

Matthew looked round the room and saw that Jocelyn and Helen were smiling fondly at Charlotte, as was a tall, rather formally dressed young man he had never seen before. ‘That's Edward, by the way,' Charlotte said, waving the bottle in his direction. ‘Matthew Renshaw, allow me to introduce Edward Gough.' She paused and then said a touch dramatically, ‘My fiancé.'

As a somewhat breathless Charlotte handed round the glasses she reminded Matthew of a friendly Labrador puppy eager for approval. When everybody had one there was an awkward pause while Charlotte and her fiancé smiled at each other rather foolishly.

Then Jocelyn said, ‘I suppose I'd better propose the toast. So, raise your glasses everyone and join me in wishing Charlotte and Edward a long and happy marriage!'

‘To Charlotte and Edward!' everybody said in unison.

Then, rather self-consciously, Charlotte placed a hand on Edward's arm and said, ‘I think you're supposed to say something now.'

Matthew noticed the solitaire on her engagement finger and wondered if she had made that gesture deliberately.

‘Am I?' Edward said. ‘Oh, well, yes. I'd like to say how happy I am that Charlotte has agreed to marry me.' Duty done he retreated behind an embarrassed smile.

Charlotte topped up their glasses until the bottle was empty, then Jocelyn put the cover on her typewriter and took her handbag from one of the drawers in her desk.

‘Let's go,' she said. ‘Bertorelli's. Large plates of pasta and as much Chianti as you can drink. My treat. You too, Matthew and Helen. I insist.'

It was only after Jocelyn had locked the office door and they were all clattering down the stairs that Matthew realized that the only words that Helen had uttered were when they had toasted the engaged couple. Once they had reached the pavement he took her hand. ‘Are you happy for Charlotte?' he said.