Memories of You (39 page)

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Authors: Benita Brown

BOOK: Memories of You
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‘For goodness' sake don't give up so easily.'
Matthew looked at her in surprise. ‘You would like me to marry Helen?'
‘Yes, I would. I admit that I didn't take to her at first and I still believe that there's a side of her I don't know about, as well as things she isn't telling us – even you – but when I see you together I can only see how happy she makes you. And when you're alone like this you're a pain in the posterior. Go ahead and woo the girl properly, Matthew. You have your sister's blessing.'
Chapter Twenty
Before Matthew left the next morning he considered going to Helen's flat to see whether she had returned. He decided against it. If she was there they would have a lot to say to each other and he didn't want to rush it. And besides, he didn't even know whether she would see him. It would be better to wait until he came back from his tour of the provincial cites.
Usually when he set off on an assignment he was totally focused on the work ahead. But this time as he began his journey north he could only think of Helen and what he would say to her when he saw her again.
 
Hugh came into the bedroom and opened the curtains. ‘Wake up, Selma,' he said.
She had been sleeping when he had got up and gone down for breakfast, and he seldom disturbed her. Every day he had all the national newspapers delivered and he liked to glance through them before going to the office. Selma stirred, yawned sleepily and half rose from the pillows.
‘What is it?' she asked. Then as memory flooded back she sat up straight and asked, ‘Is there any news?'
Hugh's laugh was bitter. ‘You could say so,' he said. ‘But not the sort of news we wanted.'
Only then did Selma see that he was carrying a newspaper. ‘You'd better read it for yourself,' he said.
He handed her the paper but instead of sitting down on the bed as she expected, he began to pace up and down. Distracted, Selma said, ‘Keep still, darling. You're making me nervous.'
‘Just read it.'
‘Read what?'
‘You can't miss it. It's on the front page.'
Offended by his peremptory tone, Selma frowned then cast her eyes over the page before her. It only took a moment before she gasped and cried out, ‘Oh no!'
‘SOCIETY RUNAWAYS!' the headline screamed. Selma read on feverishly.
 
 
Rumours have reached this newspaper that Elise Partington, daughter of one of the richest industrialists in Europe, has eloped to Gretna Green. Her intended bridegroom is Perry Wallace.
Emerald Leighton, editor of our society pages, has been told by a reliable source that this handsome man-about-town and the ravishingly beautiful sixteen-year-old are desperately in love and determined to marry each other. However, Elise's father, Hugh Partington, is equally determined that they shall not, and is making every effort to find them before the starry-eyed young woman and her handsome but impecunious suitor face each other over the blacksmith's anvil and tie the knot.
We have decided to send our own reporters to Gretna in order to keep our readers informed of any developments in this romantic story.
 
 
By the time Selma had finished reading the report she was shaking. She let the newspaper fall from her fingers and it slithered down over the silk bedspread on to the floor.
‘Who has done this?' she asked. ‘Who has told them?'
Hugh came over to the bed and, picking up the pages of the newspaper, rearranged them and folded it up.
‘I could ask the editor, I suppose, but he'll probably say something about not revealing his sources. Especially if he hopes to get further information.'
‘Information about what?'
‘About what we are doing to bring Elise back.' Hugh sighed as he sat down on the bed. ‘I thought I could trust our servants to be discreet.'
‘You think it came from here?'
‘Where else? You've probably never thought about this, Selma, but servants know just about everything that goes on in the households where they work. If you are fortunate they are loyal. It is a matter of pride not to spread gossip about the people who employ them. But in this case I think money is involved. A newspaper will pay good sums for a story like this and someone was tempted.'
‘Are you sure, Hugh? I mean, couldn't it be Elise's school friend Shirley who has gone to the press?'
‘I considered that but I don't think so. The girl is loyal to Elise and I'm sure she wouldn't do anything to embarrass her.'
‘What can we do?'
‘Nothing about what has already been printed. We certainly won't respond to any requests from reporters for information.'
‘If only I'd known,' Selma said.
‘Known what?'
‘I should have listened to you all those years ago about how unwise it was to bring a girl like that into our lives.'
‘Did I say that?'
‘Well, not exactly, but you were more cautious than I was.'
Hugh remembered very well that the reason for his concern had been Selma's own quixotic character rather than the chance that the child might cause trouble. Now it gave him no pleasure whatsoever that he had been right to be concerned. He had grown to love Elise and his present state of anger was tempered by anguish and worry.
‘You mustn't be too hard on her,' he said.
‘How can you say that? After everything we have done for her, this is how she has repaid us. She has not shown the least gratitude!'
‘Children are not required to show gratitude, Selma.'
‘Adopted children are!'
‘No, they're not. And in any case, over the years you have done your best to ignore the fact that Elise was adopted. Most of our friends in London have no idea.'
‘Well, I shall make sure that they know now. I would hate them to think that any true daughter of mine would think herself so cheap that she should run off with a scheming fortune hunter like Perry Wallace!'
Hugh saw that there was no arguing with her and he also saw, with a sinking heart, that whatever the outcome of this sad affair was, Selma and Elise would never be reconciled.
 
The next morning Jocelyn was alone in
Potpourri
's untidy office on the top floor of the house in Russell Square. Hearing footsteps ascending the stairs and expecting Charlotte to arrive breathless and apologetic for being late, she was surprised when Helen walked in.
‘Welcome back, stranger,' she said. ‘Good holiday?'
Helen's answer was a smile.
She's not to be drawn, Jocelyn thought. Am I going to let her get away with this? After all, we're supposed to be friends, aren't we? ‘Go anywhere nice?'
She noted how grudgingly Helen gave an answer. ‘Newcastle.'
Jocelyn could think of only one reason why anyone should go to Newcastle. ‘Family visit?'
‘Yes,' Helen said tersely, ‘and to save you further questions, I have been visiting an aunt. She needed help to sort out a problem.'
Jocelyn was taken by surprise. She sat back and stared at Helen for a moment before she said, ‘You have an aunt? Do you realize that that is the most you've ever told us about yourself?'
Helen lifted up the assortment of manuscripts and letters that were resting on the nearest chair, dumped them on the floor and sat down. ‘I know,' she said. ‘And you've never pressed me. Until now.'
‘Ouch!' Jocelyn said. ‘I'm sorry.'
Helen smiled. ‘No, it's all right. I know what a pain I must have been. How uninformative.'
‘Uninformative? Mmm . . .' Jocelyn said. ‘An interesting choice of word. Let me check my thesaurus.' She made a show of reaching for one of the heavy books on the shelf behind her desk and pretended to flick through it. ‘Uninformative leads to secretive, leads to enigmatic, leads to mysterious . . .' She closed the book and looked up laughingly. ‘Have you any sinister secrets, Helen?'
‘No. It's just that I've never liked talking about myself . . . my family . . . why I left Newcastle to come to London. It was all too . . . too painful.'
‘Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear.' Jocelyn felt contrite. ‘And here I am making fun of you. Forgive me?'
‘Of course I do. But that's enough for today, all right?'
‘It's enough for the moment and forever if that's how you want it. But now, you do realize you had Matthew in quite a state about this, don't you?'
‘Matthew came here?'
‘Of course he did. He couldn't understand why you had gone away without telling him. Or where and why you had gone. He tried to put a brave face on it but he looked utterly wretched. And it hurt his pride to have to ask us if we knew any more than he did. Whatever the reasons for your reticence, don't you feel just a little bit guilty about that?'
‘Yes, I do. And I intend to sort things out with him. If he still wants to see me.'
Jocelyn saw how strained Helen looked and decided to change the subject. ‘Have you thought about work at all while you've been away?' she asked.
‘Do you mean the restaurant or my writing?'
‘I meant your writing. But the restaurant comes into it. Forgive me, Helen, but you must have guessed what I'm going to say.'
‘The restaurant pieces are repetitive and stale.'
‘I wouldn't have put it quite so strongly. But they are a bit samey.'
‘Do you want to drop them?'
‘Perhaps. But if we do, I wonder if you would consider trying something else? Something similar. It would mean that you would have to leave Stefano's. Would you mind terribly?'
Helen laughed. ‘I wouldn't mind at all! Oh, I've loved working there. I adore Stefano and I even have a soft spot in my heart for the formidable Marina. I've made friends with the other girls and some of the customers, and I've heard all their stories and learned so much about life but . . . but, oh, I don't know . . .'
‘It's time to move on. I'm sure you're a very good waitress but that's not all you are. You're a first-rate writer and that's where your future lies. Exactly where, I'm not sure. And I don't know if you're sure either. I think you could write fiction if you wanted to but it would be taking a gamble.'
‘I know. I've thought about it.'
‘And?'
‘I will when I'm ready.'
‘When you've saved up enough money not to have to live in a garret like other hopeful young novelists?'
‘Something like that. I have to admit it's been good earning enough to lead a fairly comfortable life.'
‘So would you like to hear my suggestion?'
‘Go on.'
‘Leave the restaurant and get a job in the fashion department of a department store. Write a weekly piece about working there.'
‘Diary of a shop girl?'
‘I hadn't thought of a heading but that might do. What do you think?'
‘I think it would be very hard work – the shop assistant part of it, I mean.'
‘You're young and you're fit.'
‘You would want me to work in a fairly well-known store?'
Jocelyn nodded. ‘The store would remain anonymous just as the restaurant did.'
Helen looked thoughtful. ‘I'm quite tempted. But there's a problem. I have no experience of shop work whatsoever. Even if any decent store agreed to take me on I would almost certainly make a fool of myself as soon as I started work.'
Jocelyn smiled. ‘And that would make good copy.'
‘You're a cruel woman. But, yes, I'll start looking around for a shop job.' She looked thoughtful. ‘But I won't give in my notice at Stefano's until I have to.'
‘That's wise. Are you going in today?'
‘No. It's back to work tomorrow.'
‘Then why not hang around and observe a day in the life of a struggling but dedicated editor? Seriously, you can do some filing – if you wouldn't mind, that is. Charlotte is completely addle-headed these days. Any thinking space she has left in that poor brain of hers is filled with wedding arrangements and finding a cosy little nest for her and Edward to set up home in.'
‘I heard that!' Jocelyn and Helen looked round to see Charlotte standing in the doorway. She was clutching a shopping bag that looked full to bursting. She looked as rumpled as usual but her smile was radiant – and forgiving. ‘I know you don't mean to be unkind, Aunt Jocelyn. What you say is just your idea of humour. So I still fully intend to share these delicious pastries with you – and Helen, too, if she's staying.'

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