by Maggie Ford
Now this latest, innocent enough request from Michael Deel for permission to take her to view an exhibition of paintings by new artists.
‘It will help her in her own work to know what is currently being shown.’ A crafty ploy to be together. ‘I’m sure she’ll benefit from it, sir. You said you can’t always have time from your busy surgery to take her to as many places of interest as you would like.’
There had been three similar requests these last two months, but how could he say no and not look as though he were jealous? For he was being eaten up by jealousy as he turned back to the young man standing there, awaiting his reply.
‘As you say, I do find it rather difficult these days,’ he’d said with an effort. ‘It seems I will again have to leave her in your hands, as her tutor.’
‘I promise to take good care of her,’ were always the parting words.
Yes, he would! The young man could hardly keep the excitement out of his voice, blast him! Bertram found himself toying with the idea of announcing on the next occasion that Michael had nothing more to teach her and that a more skilled tutor needed to be found. But, rather than separate them, it might very well bring them closer. Absence, it was said, makes the heart grow fonder, and they would only start meeting in secret – he was sure of that.
Here he had some control over them, growing less and less he knew; but while this young man was teaching her under his own roof, he could keep an eye on them.
But now that this sneaking out of an evening had come to his ears, he was sick with anger and at the moment fighting to hide it. If he’d only made time to take her out himself, this situation would not have arisen. But he was no longer as free as he had been when his wife was away.
It wasn’t so easy now she was back, ever watching him, just as he watched them. With Mary’s eyes always on him he felt restricted, and there were times when he wished she had stayed where she was, with her sister. Nor had her carping ceased with her return.
‘I have tried my best, Bertram, to tolerate the girl, but the sight of her makes my flesh creep. How can you even look on her as you do?’
‘In the same way as you look on her sister, young Dora,’ he’d retorted angrily.
‘She is different.’
‘How different?’ he’d challenged her. ‘They are sisters!’
She had turned away in a huff and said no more, leaving things as unsolved as ever. So when it came to this young man requesting to take Ellie to art galleries and museums as he himself had once done, he knew he had to reluctantly agree or heighten his wife’s suspicions that there must be even more to his association with Ellie Jay than he admitted.
This evening Bertram remained glowering at the closed door after Michael Deel had left to tell Ellie that he had permission to take her to the latest visit on his menu.
A myriad of thoughts ran through his head. How far had this relationship gone? These secretive walks bothered him. Did they exchange furtive kisses, passionate kisses? Had it gone further than that?
He was sure Michael wasn’t a man to take advantage of Ellie. Nor, he trusted, would she have allowed it if he had tried. She was a strong-minded young woman and the terrifying memory of her father would prevent her from allowing any man to touch her. But what about love? Were they in love?
The thought seemed to clamp his brain with an iron grip. It had to stop before it went any further. He might lose Ellie. Michael Deel had said previously that one day she would want to marry and leave this house – leave him. Nor would she ever come to visit him – he knew that instinctively.
Again came the thought that tormented him. She wasn’t his loving daughter, no matter how he tried to pretend she was. He meant nothing to her. She could go off with anyone she fell in love with and he would never see her again. The notion petrified him. He had to put a stop to it before it was too late.
Making up his mind as the little dinner bell in the hall below buzzed softly, he made his way downstairs and, instead of proceeding to the dining room, slipped quickly into his surgery, just in time to avoid his wife on her way downstairs to dinner. What he was about to do would not take long.
* * *
Bertram sat in one of the many comfortable, leather, button-back armchairs in the gentlemen’s club, his rotund figure dwarfed by the well-built, broad-shouldered man with the strong jaw, typical of the Dutch, sitting beside him.
Both lounged comfortably, both enjoying a cigar and sipping brandy brought to them by a silent, deferential waiter. The room was hushed, the low murmur of men’s voices hardly breaking the silence. In this atmosphere Bertram fingered his glass and stole a glance at his companion.
‘I can’t apologize enough for putting this matter at your door,’ he began.
‘I’m very glad you did, Doctor Lowe. I do have my son’s future welfare constantly at heart. I would have been happy rather that he did not have this idiotic notion that he is some sort of an artist and concentrated all his energies on his career as a medical man.’
Doctor Henk Deel spoke impeccable English, had come to England forty years ago to study medicine, had married an English girl of a good family and settled here after graduating. At sixty he was heartened to have his younger son Michael set to follow him into medicine.
His older son, Willem – known as Willy – was senior to Michael by eight years. Their sister Julia, born in between, was married and nicely settled. But Willy took after his mother – quite an accomplished artist in her way – and, having no intention of following his father into the medical profession, had taken himself off to roam the world, painting and falling into debt, forever sending distress calls home for help out of some financial crisis or other. Henk Deel had despaired of him years ago.
Fortunately, although Michael had also inherited his mother’s artistic bent, he was far more malleable than his older brother. He’d studied hard at university and was his father’s pride. However, not wanting to stunt the young man in his need to express himself artistically, he’d allowed him to study art. When Doctor Lowe, a friend of many years standing, had asked if the boy could help this odd child he’d befriended recently to speak better English and develop her own artistic skills, he’d seen it as an outlet for his son’s hobby and perhaps a way of getting it out of his system. He’d tried to stop Willy, and look where that had landed the boy!
Thus he sat back to hear what was bothering his old friend. Lowe had revealed little over the telephone he had recently had installed on the wall of his surgery, leaving Henk to chuckle as the man rang off having uttered just a few words, no doubt unnerved still by the newness of the instrument.
‘So tell me: what is on your mind?’ he asked, laying his cigar in the ashtray to make it seem that he was ready to concentrate on what his friend had to say.
Bertram gnawed at his thick lips. ‘First, I must thank you for allowing your son to tutor Miss Jay. As far as I can see, he has done a decent job.’
‘Decent?’ echoed Deel.
‘I mean, an excellent job, obviously. But I think he has gone as far as he can with the girl.’
Deel leaned forward. ‘Why are you taking such pains over this girl? After all, she is not connected with you or your family.’
Bertram hastily shook his head. ‘It’s merely that…’
He paused. Henk Deel had no inkling of his feelings for the girl. All that the man knew was that he’d taken in and employed her and her sister out of the kindness of his heart when they had been in dire straits. If anyone had asked Doctor Deel, he would have told them that Bertram Lowe was that sort of man: kind-hearted almost to a fault, a man with an easy-going nature and a querulous wife, who could have gone so much further in his profession had he been a different person.
Bertram’s lips curled contemptuously at himself. ‘… merely that I feel such talent as she has should be nurtured,’ he concluded. ‘It seems an utter waste that a gifted person should be frustrated purely because she does not have the advantages others enjoy. Nothing more than that.’
&n
bsp; That last was a mistake, as he saw a knowing smile appear beneath his colleague’s moustache. There came an instant need to rectify the remark, but he realized any such effort would certainly add to whatever suspicion Deel might already have begun to form.
‘But that isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s not something that can be discussed on the telephone. As you know, young Michael has been tutoring Miss Jay for some time now. The thing is, I’m afraid it has prompted some feeling between them.’
He became aware of the blue eyes regarding him now with a certain amount of growing interest. He hurried on, but found it difficult to put into words that would not offend.
‘I would say that it’s beginning to develop into something more,’ he said with care. ‘A fondness towards each other? I would venture to say more than mere fondness, and I felt you should be acquainted with the fact.’
For a moment Henk Deel regarded him, then burst into a deep-toned chuckle, curbing it as those in the normally hushed room glanced up from their newspapers in startled irritation. He nodded a silent apology to those nearest to him and, retrieving his cigar from the cut-glass ashtray, leaned towards Bertram.
‘My dear chap, I know my son. I very much doubt he would find a girl from some East End slum of interest to him in the way you describe. Michael is a well-brought-up young man and eventually will find himself someone of a good family to be his wife.’
He broke off and grew thoughtful. Willy had also been well brought up, had enjoyed the very best of education, a comfortable home, an affluent parent, a brilliant career awaiting him; and what had he done? Gone off into the blue to become what people liked to call a bohemian, wearing strange clothes, consorting with even stranger companions and no doubt partaking of substances that helped heighten his empty dream of becoming a great painter, always broke and even perhaps cohabiting with a woman or two of doubtful health – God knows what diseases he could have picked up from them. Henk fought off a shudder.
‘Michael is very conscious that it would be folly to allow a fine future in medicine to be marred by such a girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Think no more of it, old chap. It is quite possible that you are growing a mountain from a molehill. They are possibly becoming good friends, nothing more.’
Even so, he would question his son when he returned home. Michael would not dream of covering it up if anything seedy was going on. And his features were as crystal: were he to tell a lie, it would show through on his face as clearly as if through glass.
‘Now, another brandy?’ he suggested confidently. ‘Where is our fine waiter… Aah!’
* * *
In the cab taking him home Bertram Lowe felt thwarted. He gazed morosely from the cab window at the passing shops and occasional kerbside stalls, all lit up and still trading, with late-evening shoppers taking advantage of the dwindling twilight.
The man was a fool!
Listening to the regular clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobbles, the traffic congestion of a few hours earlier having eased, he mused. If Deel was too gullible to foresee the pitfall his son was heading for, then he was a blind fool and it was up to himself to do something about the two young people. He couldn’t sit back and watch Ellie being led astray.
True, Michael Deel might have no intention of leading her astray. No doubt his feelings for her were honourable – that was until his father got wind of where it was leading and called his son to heel. If the boy was in love with Ellie, it might be hard to make him see his father’s viewpoint, but in the end a dutiful son should take his father’s advice and follow the career his father has preferred for him.
In the swaying cab Bertram suddenly felt a tinge of doubt. Had he done the right thing by going to Henk Deel? Lifting a hand, he plucked slowly at his top lip. What if things had already gone too far? If Ellie were to fall in love with him – if she wasn’t already in love – and he was persuaded that it would be wiser to end the affair for the sake of his own future, her heart would be broken. He had to protect her from heartbreak just as if she were his very own daughter. He suddenly realized that he wasn’t merely fond of her: he actually loved her like his own child.
It was a frightening dilemma. His first plan of dispensing with Michael Deel’s services had held the danger of their meeting behind his back and it had seemed a better solution to speak to his father, who would wield greater power over his son. All the man had done was shrug off his suspicions. Fool! The utter fool! It seemed to him that, whatever he did, those two would find a way to continue their more secret meetings. But if he could persuade her that Michael wasn’t all he seemed…
Bertram Lowe stopped plucking at his lip as a plan began to form in his head. He would make it his business to take up as many of her evenings as possible, taking her out and about, watching her face light up at the money he would spend on her. He would look good in her eyes by doubling her allowance. Meanwhile he would quietly let her see that Michael was from a totally different background from her – one upon which she would never be allowed to encroach He’d let her see that this young man was only dallying with her until the day when he would marry someone of his own sort.
She would be furious, feel used. Arguments would ensue, accusations fly, recriminations be batted back and forth; love’s bliss would disintegrate, and who knows? – it might take just a single stern word from his father to make a disgruntled Michael Deel return to the bosom of his family. No need to dismiss him and no cause for ill feeling between himself and the boy’s father. It was a good plan.
* * *
Ellie had never felt so cosseted. She’d never had so many clothes bought for her or been taken to so many places – even to the music hall, which she liked the most. Even her allowance had been substantially increased.
‘I’m saving most of it,’ she told Dora in secret. ‘It’ll be a tidy sum by the time I’m ready to leave here.’ The only fly in the ointment was Doctor Lowe taking so much more interest in her than before. But so long as he gave her money she had to go along with it. After all, this was what she had planned for. More and more, however, these little outings were falling on the evenings Michael should have been coming.
She knew he was getting irritated as the weeks went by, asking what was going on. All she could say was that in time Doctor Lowe would tire of these needless outings. ‘It won’t be for much longer,’ she coaxed. ‘Then we’ll be together again.’
But now he was openly impatient. ‘How much longer?’ he had asked the previous week in a tone that rather took her aback. ‘You could try to get out of it sometimes.’
‘We still see each other on odd occasions, don’t we?’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t very well upset him. He’s been kind to me and he means well.’
But Michael had become quite annoyed, refusing to see her point. It was a side of him she’d never seen before and she in turn had been huffy with him. They’d parted company that evening without him suggesting they sneak out together, and on Monday he hadn’t appeared, a note arriving to say he was feeling a little under the weather, though she knew he was still angry.
She could see his side of it. She too missed their times together, but nothing could be done about it if she wanted to avoid suspicion of something going on between her and Michael.
She felt sure no one knew of their secret meetings and it did add a delicious touch of intrigue, her stomach churning with excitement every time she crept out of the back door into Michael’s arms. Twice this month she’d made an excuse to Doctor Lowe that she had a terrible headache.
Doctor Lowe, now seeing himself as her guardian and asking that she call him by his given name in private, couldn’t have been more concerned. On both occasions he had given her aspirin powder, told her to rest and had cancelled the evening’s arrangement. But she couldn’t play on that one too often. He had been so trusting and sympathetic that, in a strange way, it hurt to deceive him. She was aware that his fondness was becoming obsessive. If he found out about her a
nd Michael, he might become bitter. If he sent her packing, her plans would fall apart. She couldn’t expect Michael to keep her. She needed to stay here until she chose to leave.
To tell Michael her plans would involve explaining about her father. Nor could she explain why she needed to remain in the Lowe household. What if he realized that she was using the man, and turned against her? If she lost him, her world would fall apart.
Dora’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘I don’t know why you want to leave. I like it here. Mrs Lowe’s awfully kind. She gives me nearly anything I want. And you don’t do so bad out of the master,’ she added slyly.
Dora, coming up to fifteen, was growing up quickly. Soon she would be having her hair up; the hemline of her skirts would be allowed to flare and sweep the floor. Whether she could constrict her waist to the extent some women were doing to achieve the new hour-glass figure would be up to Mrs Lowe.
‘I know I’m still considered employed,’ Dora pouted, ‘but I get almost as many privileges as you do.’
Ellie, though, knew Dora would never be as spoiled as she herself was. She knew she should be grateful – now with a tidy bank balance and anything she asked for within reason instantly given to her. She wasn’t, of course, able to come to the dining room with the master and mistress – Mrs Lowe saw to that; but she ate what they ate, meals brought by Florrie, who seemed to have forgotten that the girl she attended had once worked below stairs. They even talked together these days, Florrie sitting on the bed chatting while she ate, even helping herself to titbits off Ellie’s plate, making them both giggle.
It was good to have her as a friend again. She was almost tempted to tell her about Michael but thought better of it. Florrie had a wagging tongue, and if Mrs Jenkins got wind of it, she’d be straight up to tell Doctor Lowe.
It was as if Florrie had read her mind this evening, as they sat side by side on Ellie’s comfortable bed in the elegant room that had once belonged to the Lowes’ daughter. They had been laughing about how lumpy Florrie’s bed was becoming, and Ellie had promised to see if the master could find his way clear to getting his wife to see about a better mattress for her.
