* * *
For the first few weeks Emma couldn’t have been happier. The regular income made a world of difference. She bought Mum that wireless and a few hens for fresh eggs. She enjoyed her work at the boutique, where the clients wore beautiful clothes and had lovely manners. The garments she sold were high end, and far more costly than at À La Mode, but otherwise her duties were similar. There was one main difference, however, one that both flattered and terrified her. Monsieur Dupont wanted her to model clothes for clients.
‘You have the perfect figure for a clothes horse, Emma. Tall and slim. Shapely legs and, ah, well-developed for one so young. My vain customers will see you in their chosen gowns and imagine themselves equally beautiful, mais oui?’
His eyes lingered on her chest and she tried to put aside a creeping sense of unease. She’d heard rumours about Monsieur Dupont pressing his attentions upon girls in the stock room, but that hadn’t been Emma’s experience. She sometimes caught him watching her, but he’d never been inappropriate. This was no time for prudishness or false modesty. Models earned more than shop girls.
The first few times she burned with embarrassment, stumbling in high heels as nerves got the better of her. But after a while she grew to enjoy wearing such a wide variety of gorgeous clothes. Clients loved her, eager to buy the garments she modelled. ‘Bon travail, mademoiselle,’ whispered Monsieur Dupont, as a customer ordered two of the same gown in different colours. ‘You have an enchanting combination of innocence and elegance that is utterly irresistible.’ Emma became his go-to model, especially for the younger styles.
Late one afternoon when the boutique had closed to the public, a client came in for a private viewing. Afterwards Emma was changing out of a beaded blouson gown in the dressing room when Monsieur Dupont walked in. She was wearing nothing but a brassiere and knickers. She spun around and reached for her own dress, but before she could he was upon her, forcing kisses on her mouth, neck and shoulders, whispering how lovely she was.
When she tried to pull away, he grabbed her arm hard and snaked his hand between her legs. She twisted free and stood panting in the corner, filled with revulsion and ready to defend herself.
‘Mademoiselle,’ said Monsieur Dupont, his face turned red. ‘We both know you’re not as innocent as you pretend. If you wish to continue working for me, we must come to an arrangement. I am a man like any other, a man with needs, and you are a beautiful girl. If you please me, you will find me most generous.’
Emma pulled on her dress and fled. Whatever was she to do? She couldn’t ask her mother. Maybe Jane would help?
* * *
‘You stupid, selfish girl,’ said Jane, when Emma tearfully confessed her ordeal. ‘I went to a great deal of trouble to get you that job. These are difficult times, Emma. Plenty of girls would be grateful to have a gentleman such as Monsieur Dupont wanting to look after them. Think of what it might mean to your mother.’
‘You knew,’ said Emma as the truth dawned. ‘You offered me up to that bastard like a sacrifice.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic. A little slap and tickle in return for the largesse of a wealthy man. It seems like a splendid arrangement to me, one you are in no position to refuse.’
Emma shook her head in disbelief. Should she go to Tim, tell him what a monster he’d married? She could imagine his shock and disappointment. He strived so hard to ignore the harsh realities of this world, but he wouldn’t turn a blind eye to this betrayal, no matter how his wife tried to deny it.
Jane seemed to read her mind. ‘And don’t you go crying to your brother, Emma. He’s not a worldly man. He may not appreciate the benefits of Monsieur Dupont’s proposal the way I do.’ A spark of fear flickered in her eyes, and her tone grew plaintive. ‘You know how happy he is about the baby. Please don’t spoil it for him.’
‘You’re a real piece of work,’ said Emma, as she swept out the cottage door.
And to think her sister-in-law had once made her feel inferior. Never again. Jane was the lowest of the low, and she pitied her soon-to-be niece or nephew for having to endure such a mother.
However, in one respect, Jane was right. What good would it do to tear Tim’s marriage apart, especially now, with a baby on the way? What would it accomplish, apart from exposing Jane for the witch she was. Emma could see it now. Tim would tell Jack, who in turn would tell his friends, humiliating Emma even further. Her brothers would confront Monsieur Dupont. Jack would start a fight. Jane would lose her job, leaving the young family vulnerable if the foundry should let Tim go.
Emma crossed the street, so lost in thought that a car had to brake to avoid her. She barely heard the blaring horn. It was intolerable, bearing this burden alone.
By the time Emma turned the corner into Sparrow Lane, she’d made her decision. What real choice was there? She couldn’t afford to lose her job. No, she would persevere at the boutique a while longer, try to handle the situation herself. Who knew? Perhaps Monsieur Dupont would search his conscience and regret his vile actions in the morning.
* * *
Emma turned up the next day for work as usual, sick with apprehension. She tried to pretend that nothing had happened, giving her boss a wide berth, desperate to avoid being alone with him.
Monsieur Dupont’s behaviour towards her remained scrupulously polite, although his eyes often followed her around the room, making her skin crawl. She agonised over what had happened, wondering if she’d overreacted, maybe even dreamed the whole thing. However the broad bruise changing colour on her arm brought the truth home.
Weeks passed without incident and Emma began to relax. With a regular wage coming in, life had become easier in so many ways. Mum continued to progress, eating independently and consistently returning a hand squeeze with one of her own. Her eyes could focus on Emma’s face now, and Dr Dennisdeen was becoming more positive about her prospects for recovery.
‘You have done an excellent job in these vital, early weeks, Emma. I’m keeping a diary about your mother’s case. Rehabilitation medicine is a fascinating new specialty, being pioneered by a truly wonderful American, Frank Krusen. He runs the physical medicine department at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, and it’s achieving some astonishing results. I have plans to establish a similar establishment in Hobart, devoted to the most advanced physiotherapy techniques for accident and stroke victims. Polio too. With any luck, I’ll have it up and running by next year.’
‘Would that be a good place for my mother?’
‘Indeed it would.’ Dr Dennisdeen beamed at Emma, clearly excited to be talking about his future plans. ‘But in the meantime, I want to extend Eileen’s physical therapy here at home. You will need to attach two small pulleys to goose-neck pipes fitted over the head and the foot of her bed. Ordinary clothes line rope will do, with a two inch webbing for the hand and foot loops.’
‘Will that help Mum?’
‘Yes, and it will help you too,’ said the doctor. ‘Pulley therapy is less back-breaking for carers. It increases the range of limb motion and helps prevent bed sores. It also has the advantage that, over time, patients can progress to doing the exercises themselves.’
‘You really think that’s possible?’
Doctor Dennisdeen gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I grow more hopeful by the day. Eileen is trapped in a body that doesn’t work, but for all we know her mind is unaffected. Our job is to give your mother her life back.’
Emma felt a surge of hope so powerful it was hard to draw breath. Her mother would be well again, she was sure of it. She would do whatever it took to make that happen.
* * *
Emma’s reprieve from Monsieur Dupont’s lechery didn’t last long. A month after his first attempt, he tried again. This time he made no physical advance; it was by way of a business proposition.
Late one afternoon, after rearranging the hats in the window display, Emma found him waiting for her in the stock room.
‘Mademoiselle, a word if I may.’ She looked around
, and realised the rest of the staff had gone home. ‘Firstly, let me apologise for the heavy-handed way I, ah, approached you last time. I see now that I took you by surprise.’ Emma wondered where this was going. ‘But do not think for a moment that I’ve changed my mind. Here is my proposal. No, don’t go.’ He moved to block her way. ‘I will double your wage. I will open an account here in your name and pay it off each month. Within reason you may choose whatever apparel you want for yourself, aside from gowns in the Parisian range. My only condition is that you see nobody but me. In addition, I will engage you an excellent nurse for your mother.’
‘A nurse?’
‘I’ve spoken to Dr Dennisdeen. He informs me that a suitably qualified nurse, trained in the latest physiotherapy techniques, would greatly aid your mother’s recovery.’
He moved one step closer and Emma moved one step back.
‘In return you will be wholly available to me on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings. I shall give you a key to my flat upstairs, and you shall wait there for me after work. Discretion is, of course, essential. I may require you at other times, by arrangement.’ He peered at her with piggy eyes. ‘You have one week to decide. If this arrangement doesn’t suit, you will be dismissed from your position here.’ His face betrayed no expression as he calmly put on his coat. ‘Goodnight. I’d thank you to lock up.’ He turned to her as he reached the door, and tipped his hat. ‘Remember, mademoiselle. One week.’
* * *
Emma couldn’t remember how she got home. When Jack came into the kitchen, grinning like a fool, she was sitting at the table, still wearing her hat and gloves.
‘Something wrong?’ he said, when she didn’t say hello. ‘Is it Mum?’ He ducked into the lounge room to check, then straight back out. ‘Sorry I haven’t done those exercises with her, but I’ve been out all afternoon.’
Emma wasn’t listening, didn’t even look at him.
‘Sis.’ He came closer. ‘I’m trying to tell you something. I’ve got a job.’
This finally got her attention. ‘A job?’ She could smell beer on his breath. ‘Why that’s wonderful, Jacky.’ If Jack had a job, maybe she could tell Monsieur Dupont where to stick his arrangement. ‘How? Where?’
‘You won’t believe this. It’s got to do with you and your boss in a roundabout way.’ She felt a creeping fear. ‘I went to Patterson’s pub for lunch with a few mates. Before you start, I used my race winnings from last week. You said I could do what I liked with that money.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, this old bloke, Kevin, comes in and we get talking. He’s in the rag trade, some kind of agent. Sells rolls of material – wool and silks and satins and such, along with suits and ladies’ dresses. Just sold a swag of stuff to that boutique of yours, apparently. He goes everywhere, he does; Melbourne, Sydney, even England and France. Turns out he’s after a dogsbody, an apprentice like. Someone to drive him around, pick up samples, do deliveries. Someone who wants to learn the ropes.’
‘And?’
‘Well, he asks me if I know anyone who might be interested. So I say my sister is a model at Trés Chic and – you’ll love this bit – that I was thinking of getting into the rag trade meself. He asks me your name, and says he’s heard good things about you. Then he says, “If Monsieur Dupont thinks so highly of the sister, perhaps I should give the brother a go.” And just like that, I got the job!’ He gave a dramatic flourish and waited. ‘Well, say something.’
‘How did you meet this man again?’
‘I told you, he came into the pub. It was fate, sis. All those empty tables, and for some reason, he sits down right next to me.’
Emma sensed a trap. Monsieur Dupont had organised this job for Jack. Did he think she would be grateful enough to sleep with him?
‘There’s one more thing.’ He bent his head and shuffled his feet. ‘I have to leave, sis. Tomorrow, for Hobart. Like I said, this bloke lives and works on the road. After that we’re sailing to Melbourne.’ He looked up, trying to look sorry and not succeeding. ‘I’ve never been to Melbourne.’
‘What about Mum?’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘When I’m at work.’
‘Maybe, between the two of us, we could afford to hire someone. I don’t mean that old drunk, Mrs Shaw. I mean a proper trained nurse. How expensive do you reckon that would be?’
Way outside their budget, that was for certain. ‘Where did that idea come from, about the trained nurse I mean?’
‘From Kevin. I told him about Mum and he suggested that’s what we need. Kevin’s a very easy bloke to talk to.’
Emma put her head in her hands.
‘What’s wrong, sis?’
‘A headache is all. Let me go and lie down.’
Emma escaped with her racing thoughts to the bedroom. If Jack took the job and left Launceston, she’d be unable to manage Mum without a nurse. She’d have to take her boss up on his vile offer. Or she could tell Jack the job he was so excited about was really a ploy to get her into her boss’s bed. It would destroy his self-confidence. It would also destroy the best opportunity he’d ever had, and ultimately lead to them all being jobless and evicted.
Emma tried to imagine what it would be like to be out on the street with a paralysed mother. No, she couldn’t let it happen. Jack would have his job, Mum would have her nurse, and she would have her deal with the devil. Game, set and match to Monsieur Dupont.
Chapter 15
For Emma, the next week felt like some sort of living death. She would give her boss what he wanted. What choice did she have? Life had backed her into a corner. But she would make him wait out the week he’d given her, and she would never think of him as Monsieur Dupont again. He was Melvyn to her now, though she didn’t dare say it to his face. Melvyn Spriggs from Fingal; a sad, loathsome little coward who did not deserve his place on this good earth.
On the seventh day Melvyn confronted her. ‘Have you made a decision, mademoiselle?’
‘You leave me no choice,’ she said. ‘But before I agree, you must guarantee my mother will have her nurse, and my brother will have his job. Nothing happens until those arrangements are in place.’
Melvyn breathed hard, stared at her chest and licked his thick lips. ‘Of course, my dear. I give my word. Whatever you want.’ His tone was no longer commanding. It was eager, fawning even. So, she still had some power. He’d gone from bully to beggar. The change surprised her.
Melvyn was true to his word. Jack left, excited by the prospect of a steady job and his first trip across Bass Strait to Melbourne. Emma couldn’t help but be pleased for him. A qualified nurse duly arrived and moved into Jack’s old room. Emma hadn’t expected round-the-clock help. Elsie Hopkins was a plump, matronly woman with a broad smile and sunny disposition. She’d come highly recommended by Dr Dennisdeen, and proved to be a godsend. Not only was she a dedicated and capable nurse, but she was also the sort of person who couldn’t bear to be idle. Elsie cheerfully cooked up delicious, nourishing meals with the fresh produce that Emma could now afford. She tidied up while Emma was at work, and did some of the washing.
Best of all, she didn’t treat Mum like she was unconscious or mentally deficient. Not like some people – Jane sprang to mind. Instead Elsie cheerfully chatted away as if they were best friends, telling Mum about her grown daughters in Sydney, and the grandchild she hardly ever got to see. Showing Mum the baby clothes she was knitting for the Red Cross, asking her opinion on colours and patterns.
‘What do you think, Eileen? Lemon or white? And the bonnet … striped or plain?’
Elsie was an enthusiastic member of the local library, and read aloud to Mum every day: Agatha Christie mysteries, The Little House On The Prairie series and the latest blockbusters like Gone With The Wind. Emma recalled Dr Dennisdeen’s words. For all we know Eileen’s mind is unaffected. Emma prayed this was true, but the horror of her mother being prisoner of a paralysed body remained. If Mum could indeed hear and understand everything going on around her, what a bles
sing Nurse Elsie’s cheery company would be.
Emma missed Jack, but she didn’t miss him constantly asking for money, and thrusting her into the role of parent, even though she was two years younger. Life at home was much happier and more peaceful than before.
There was nothing happy or peaceful about work however, or her despicable arrangement with Melvyn Spriggs. One morning, a week after Elsie arrived, Melvyn had called her into his office. ‘Is the nurse I sent you working out?’
What to say? If she deemed Elsie unsuitable, she might put off the inevitable for a short time, while Melvyn arranged somebody else. But it would be a postponement, not a reprieve. And anyway, she loved having Elsie.
‘The nurse is most helpful.’
‘And the lad? Jack, your brother. He has taken up his traineeship?’ She nodded and Melvyn stood up straighter, sucking in his belly as best he could. His fingers formed a steeple. ‘I hope you’re satisfied that I’m a man who keeps his promises.’ He handed her a key on a silver chain set with a small opal, and lowered his voice to a whisper ‘At five o’clock, go upstairs and let yourself in. Go to the bedroom where you’ll find a garment laid out. Put it on and wait for me.’
Melvyn reached for her hand, and she forced herself to let him. Raising it to his flabby lips, he began to kiss her fingers, one by one. Filled with revulsion, she snatched her hand away.
‘Ah.’ He seemed undeterred. ‘My little coquette likes to tease. No matter, you will be mine tonight.’ He leaned in close. Close enough for her to smell his pipe tobacco breath. Close enough to see his wrinkles and enlarged pores and stained teeth. ‘Don’t worry. I will see that you have a good time, mademoiselle.’
* * *
The Lost Valley Page 11
