At Home by the Sea

by Pam Weaver

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘Tell you what, I’ll stay until you’re asleep.’

  ‘I shall fight it all the way,’ he said, his eyelids closing.

  Forty-Three

  The judge looked over his horn rimmed glasses and frowned at Linda. ‘I think even you must realise by now that you’ve been a very silly young woman,’ he said sternly.

  It was four months later and they were all in Lewes Crown Court. After a trial lasting four days, John Middleton had been found guilty of robbery, stealing a car and vandalism. The week before, Raymond Perryman had been found guilty of the armed robbery and more importantly guilty of the wilful murder of Paul Dawkins and the attempted murder of Giacomo Semadini. Ray had insisted Paul’s death was an accident; that he tripped and fell as he was chasing him and the gun went off.

  He had missed receiving the death penalty by a mere three days. The crime had taken place on Saturday and Raymond had turned eighteen on Monday. Had he already been eighteen when he committed the murder, he would have had to face the hangman.

  The police had caught up with Ray in Southampton where he was on the lookout for a ship to make his escape. For the murder and attempted murder, he was to be detained at her Majesty’s pleasure for eight years with three years hard labour. His cowardly attack on Linda was to remain on the books.

  ‘Your sentence would have been much longer,’ the judge told him soberly, ‘but I have taken into account that you showed a morsel of remorse after the event. I have no doubt that you were the person who made the anonymous telephone call to the police alerting them to the plight of the young girl. Had you not done so, the person in question would almost certainly have died as a consequence of her injuries.’

  Listening to all this, Izzie gritted her teeth. That Raymond wasn’t even charged with the attack on Linda was a bitter pill to swallow. It seemed that there was always one rule for men and quite another for women.

  Linda had faced charges of being an accessory after the fact but it didn’t take long for the jury to clear her of all charges. As he discharged her, the judge told her he was going to leave her with a fatherly warning.

  ‘I want you to go away from here and think very carefully about your decisions in life,’ he continued. ‘You may not think so right now, but you have been very lucky.’

  Sitting in the court room, Izzie bristled. How grossly unfair that the judge thought fit to give Linda a bit of a telling off. By pointing out that because she had run away with Ray and had put herself in a precarious position, he was implying that being raped (although, of course, no one mentioned that word) was partly her fault! There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Raymond had violated her but the police deemed that her willingness to go with him, coupled with Raymond’s assertion that it was Paul who had attacked her, which was why he had chased him, meant it would be doubly difficult to make a case. The bottom line was, it was her word against his. Furthermore, the police had advised that should the crime be made public, her reputation would be in ruins and as angry as he was, Bill didn’t want Linda to suffer the humiliation of public disgrace.

  Linda took what the judge was saying exactly the way Izzie would have expected. ‘Oh yes, Sir,’ she said in a small voice, her eyes downcast, ‘and I have learned my lesson.’ She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. ‘From now on I shall be a paragon of virtue.’

  Izzie put her hand over her mouth to suppress a smile. The judge didn’t seem to realise she was being sarcastic.

  In view of her contrite attitude, the judge took out an order forbidding what he called ‘scurrilous Sunday newspapers’ from printing her name or hounding her for her story.

  Linda glanced across the court room towards Izzie and gave her a watery smile.

  As for John, he was to be detained at her Majesty’s pleasure for two years. The judge took into account that although John was part of the robbery, he hadn’t actually made off with any of the money. He had also confessed to another break-in but because the victim hadn’t reported the crime or made a subsequent complaint, no further action was taken.

  The police decided not to prosecute Bill Baxter for affray. Witness statements had been garbled and confused. As far as Izzie was concerned, now that he was firmly under Mavis’ thumb, from now on he would stay on the straight and narrow. Funnily enough, in the short time she had known her, Izzie had grown to like Mavis and they got on well. She made Dad happy.

  As the two boys were taken down, Linda joined her mother and sister on the benches outside the court room.

  Doris squeezed her daughter’s hand. In the run up to the trial, they too had reconciled. While she was still in hospital Linda had actually asked for her mother so Izzie had written to her that night. By the time Linda arrived at Courtlands, Doris and Arthur were waiting for her. Their reunion had been tearful with each trying to outdo the other with apologies, and since then, she and Linda had been frequent visitors to the Egremont Arms where Doris had taught them both the art of baking.

  ‘I’m so glad that’s over,’ said Linda. ‘It’s a bit unfair that he got away with what he did to me but I’m glad I didn’t have to stand up there in front of all those people and tell them. Did you hear what that pompous ass of a judge said to me?’

  Izzie grinned.

  ‘Try and put all this behind you,’ Doris advised. ‘Think of today as the first day of the rest of your life.’

  They heard someone clear his throat. Bill Baxter was waiting for his turn to hug his daughter. Linda stood to her feet. As they embraced, Bill gave Doris a curt nod of the head. Izzie had persuaded him to meet Doris and Arthur and he agreed. Bill had also agreed to give her a divorce and soon there would be a series of weddings in the family. In more ways than one, 1953 promised to be a momentous year. Doris was to marry Arthur on Easter Saturday, April 4th, and Bill was to marry Mavis in May.

  Later on in June, Izzie and Giacomo were to be married and it promised to be a lavish wedding. Linda was to be chief bridesmaid with Liliana and her older sister as younger bridesmaids. Although Izzie hadn’t told Giacomo, she planned to have the little bear incorporated into her wedding bouquet for the occasion. She understood the heartache he’d felt at losing his little boy and it was her way of telling him that although she was now his wife, Gianni and Maria would never be forgotten. When it came to the guest list, it turned out that Giacomo’s cousins, Umberto and Benito, were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to his family.

  ‘The guest list is so long,’ Izzie teased, ‘Café Bellissimo wouldn’t be nearly big enough. Why not just invite the whole of Italy and be done with it.’

  He had just smiled and crushed her to him with what he called a Latin lover’s kiss.

  As they left the courts in Lewes, she and Giacomo waved goodbye to her mother and Arthur, as Arthur was anxious to get back to the Egremont to open up before six o’clock.

  Linda and Mavis squeezed into the front of her father’s lorry.

  Left together on the pavement, Giacomo laced his fingers through hers. ‘Happy?’

  Izzie nodded. ‘Couldn’t be happier,’ she whispered.

  They strolled towards the Maltings where he had parked his car. As they reached an area known as the Magic Circle, Giacomo drew her closer and pointed to a park bench. ‘I want to show you something.’

  When they were seated, he drew some photographs out from the inside pocket of his jacket. Izzie smiled, curious. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s a place where I think we could open a bistro.’

  The snapshots were of a shop set back from the road.

  ‘This will be the car park,’ he said pointing to quite a large area in the front.

  Izzie nodded. The interior needed updating but the kitchen area, much larger than the Café Bellissimo, was really good. As Giacomo began waxing lyrical about his amazing find, Izzie was quiet. ‘You don’t like it,’ he said, disappointed.

  ‘Is there no street parking?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, plent
y. Why?’

  She paused then said, ‘Why not use that area in the front for more tables? Look, if you put some sort of canvas covering over there, you could have tables as far as there. That way, it would be a real Italian bistro.’

  A slow smile crept over his face. ‘So you do like it.’

  ‘I love it, darling,’ she said, ‘and I’m sure you’ll make it the best eating house for miles around.’

  ‘Maybe you would make your secret recipe pies for a lunch time snack?’ he suggested.

  ‘So you did like them?’ she teased. When she had presented him with one of Polly’s pies last week, he had been a little reserved in his judgement. At the time she was disappointed, but perhaps he was just teasing her after all.

  She paused. ‘Where is the restaurant?’

  ‘Bournemouth,’ he said. ‘A place called Lansdowne.’

  Izzie flung her arms around his neck. ‘But that’s wonderful,’ she cried. ‘I had such lovely times there with dear old Mrs Shilling and her sister lived in Lansdowne.’

  ‘That’s what gave me the idea,’ he said. ‘I know you like being near the sea and I happen to know that they have a very good newspaper on the lookout for women journalists.’

  ‘Now who’s busy fixing things,’ she said. ‘Mr and Mrs Semadini, at home by the sea.’

  They kissed. ‘There’s something else,’ he went on. ‘Our honeymoon.’

  ‘You said we couldn’t afford one.’

  ‘I know, but it seems that our families and the customers in the Café Bellissimo have all been clubbing together.’

  ‘Our families?’ she gasped. ‘Mine as well?’

  He nodded. ‘Your father was particularly generous.’ With that, he drew an envelope from his jacket pocket. Inside, Izzie found tickets for a coach trip. She squealed with delight. ‘Venice!’ she cried. ‘We’re going to Venice?’

  ‘Yes, thanks to Umberto, Benito, your father, your step-father …’ he said counting on his fingers.

  Izzie was laughing and crying at the same time.

  ‘Happy?’ he asked.

  She nodded vigorously, hardly able to take it all in.

  He suddenly looked grave. ‘And are you really sure you want to marry such an old man?’

  Izzie pretended to give the matter some considerable thought. ‘Well, I did have a good deal of practice looking after the elderly when I worked for Mrs Shilling,’ she said. She grinned and added suggestively. ‘I was very good at back rubs.’

  She heard Giacomo chuckle as his lips brushed her hair. ‘I can’t wait for one of those,’ he murmured.

  Acknowledgements

  I should like to thank the Avon team for all their help and guidance in writing this book. I couldn’t have done it without you! I always admire the skills of the editors and copy editors whose eagle eyes pick up so many mistakes and missed out words from a manuscript I have already read a dozen times. I really do become ‘word blind’ at times. Thank you.

  I’d also like to thank my agent Juliet Burton who is always there with an encouraging word and a friendly chat.

  Thanks, too, to all my readers. Now hands up, who would like to come with me for an ice cream in the Café Bellissimo!

  A comment from the author:

  I am sure that some of you will be annoyed that Ray apparently ‘got away with’ what he did to Linda, and quite rightly so. We live in very different times now. Back then (1950) a girl’s reputation was all important. I remember my mother telling me boys didn’t marry girls who were ‘used goods’. There seems to have been a common misconception that if a girl got raped it was somehow her fault; her dress was too flashy, she led him on, she shouldn’t have been out at that time of night … Grossly unfair and not true of course. Personally, I don’t subscribe to that view. Rape is rape and is a despicable crime but for the purposes of the story I have tried to reflect the attitudes of the day.

  Read on for a short story from Pam Weaver …

  Pineapple Jack

  The story of the beginning of Polly’s pies

  The chilly late afternoon mist from the River Thames swirled around her ankles making Polly Patterson shiver. Behind her back, the bright lights of the Twopenny Hop cast eerie shadows onto the street. Heavily made-up girls in gaudy dresses and scrubbed up men with flashy neckerchiefs were already crowded around the doorway, anxious to get in. After a hard day’s work they were ready to enjoy themselves through the night. Polly could hear the sound of laughter and the clay hornpipes. The dancing was about to begin.

  Pushing back a stray curl, Polly stood on tiptoe, straining her eyes down the street for a glimpse of Pineapple Jack. He would be head and shoulders above the rest if he was there, but although she searched and searched, she couldn’t see him. He wasn’t coming. Suppressing a sudden pang of disappointment she chewed the side of her cheek anxiously. He was a bit late, that was all. She trusted him. They’d made a promise together and he wasn’t the sort to let you down.

  Her mother had raised her eyebrows when Polly told her what she’d done.

  ‘And you’ve trusted him with a shilling?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘A whole shilling?’

  ‘It was my share of the bargain, Mother,’ she’d said indignantly.

  ‘Then that’s the last you’ll see of him or your shilling,’ her mother trumpeted.

  Polly stepped out into the thoroughfare and looked up and down the street once again. He will come, she told herself firmly, he will.

  ‘Yoo-hoo.’

  Polly turned to see Edith, her best friend, coming up behind her. Quick as a flash she put the hand holding the bunch of snowdrops she’d just bought from old Rosie the flower lady behind her back. She wished now that she hadn’t bought them. Probably they were a step too far but they’d looked so pretty and poor old Rosie looked half frozen.

  ‘Nearly time to go home,’ she’d said as Rosie had handed her the snowdrops.

  ‘Can’t go yet, lovey,’ Rosie said. ‘Nobody’s buying.’ And Polly’s heart had gone out to her. The life of a humble street seller in Victorian London was hard.

  Edith was waving. Polly waved back and smiled to herself. Edith was wearing her dancing gown and she looked really nice. It was only a faded hand-me-down but it was Edith’s pride and joy. Polly had been with her when she’d bought it off the rag and bone man in London Road.

  ‘Belonged to a great lady, did that,’ he told them, smiling through his black teeth. ‘Wore it to a great ball, so she did.’

  There was no doubt that it was a very pretty gown, or it had been once upon a time, but Polly didn’t believe a word of the yarn he was spinning. Still, her friend had parted with her hard earned pennies and Polly had helped her mend the tears, putting scraps of fine lace over the most damaged parts.

  ‘Don’t you look a picture,’ said Polly as Edith drew near. ‘Go on, give me a twirl.’

  Edith spun around. ‘You look pretty good yourself,’ she said when she stopped. ‘I’ve never seen that dress before.’

  Polly smoothed the front of her gown with her hand and inclined her head as she bobbed a curtsey. ‘Why thank you kindly, Mam,’ she teased but she didn’t tell her friend why she was wearing it.

  Edith was arm-in-arm with Paddy Riley. A good-looking man, he worked in the docks and his flame coloured hair, currently tucked rakishly under a cloth cap, was as striking as his temper.

  Edith smiled up at him. ‘Doesn’t she look lovely, Paddy?’

  ‘Almost as good as one of them pies she bakes,’ Paddy joked.

  Edith gave him a hefty nudge. ‘You comin’ in to the dance, Poll?’

  ‘Nope,’ Polly answered crisply. ‘I’m waitin’ fer Jack.’

  Paddy laughed out loud. ‘Ah, begorra, then you’ll be there for the night,’ he said. ‘I heard he’d come in to some money. They say he’s gone over the river.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘Maybe to a gambling joint?’

  Polly felt her cheeks flame. For a split second she felt a slither of pan
ic but then she tossed her head proudly and said, ‘He’ll be back soon enough.’

  Edith frowned, puzzled. ‘What are you up to Polly Patterson? Come on, out with it.’

  ‘Well, if you must know, he’s gone to look fer a Parson,’ said Polly.

  ‘Why would ye be wantin’ one of them?’ Paddy said incredulously.

  ‘To arrange me weddin’ day.’

  Paddy threw back his head and laughed. ‘Wedding day?’ he boomed. ‘What, you and Pineapple Jack?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Polly retorted indignantly.

  ‘Oh, Polly,’ Edith cooed, ‘why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘She’s gone off her head, Edie.’

  Polly turned away.

  ‘Getting wed?’ Paddy scoffed. ‘Nobody round ’ere gets married.’

  ‘You might laugh, Paddy Riley,’ Polly said indignantly. ‘But Jack knows what I wants. I told him I wants to be a wife with a ’ome of me own and that’s what he’ve promised.’

  ‘Then more fool him.’ He slipped his arm around Edith’s waist. ‘You should do the same as me and Edie. We’re happy enough without no wedding, ain’t we girl.’

  ‘You won’t find me being anybody’s helpmate,’ Polly said stoutly. ‘I’ve seen too many women left high and dry with a chance child to bring up on their own to go down that road.’

  Edith’s face flushed as her hand went to her gently rounded belly but Polly was unrepentant. ‘I’ll be wed proper before I give myself to Pineapple Jack.’

  ‘Well then good luck to you Poll,’ said Edith. She leaned forward and gave her friend a kiss on the cheek. ‘I just wish you’d told me, that’s all. I would have come with you to wish you well.’

  Suddenly sober and serious, Paddy gave Edith an anxious glance. ‘You got ideas way above your station, Polly Patterson,’ he retorted, ‘and that’s a fact.’ Then, grabbing Edith by the arm, he thrust her through the door.

  Polly smiled sadly to herself. Her friend had been living with him for about six months. They had a dingy room in a large house with many other families and even though Edith was pregnant, it was obvious Paddy didn’t want her getting any ideas about marriage. He wasn’t the type to stick around either.