‘So you’ve come back.’
There was a moment’s pause before she answered very calmly, ‘For a short while.’
‘Long or short, we’ve got to talk.’
He moved slowly now to the middle of the room where he could see her reflection through the mirror, and she nodded at him, saying, ‘Yes, as you say, we’ve got to talk. But what we’ve both got to say to each other won’t take long. I came back for one purpose, to fetch Martin.’
‘The hell you did!’ He laughed mirthlessly, and the sound brought her swinging round on the stool; but her voice was still calm as she repeated, ‘Yes, the hell I did. If you think that I’m going to let him be brought up under the influence of your father and his half-caste son, not to mention you, you’re mistaken.’
‘And what grounds would you put forward for taking him away from me?’
‘Adultery. Oh, I know all about your trips to Newcastle.’ His eyebrows moved up slightly before he said, ‘As I do about your trips to London.’
‘You can’t prove anything about my trips to London; I stay with my uncle.’
‘Who is stone-deaf and almost blind and whose only servant is a daily.’
She shook her head. ‘You can prove nothing.’
‘I can and I’m determined to do so, because I want a divorce.’
The muscles of her face under the wrinkled skin tightened; then she laughed as she exclaimed, ‘You’ve got some hope. Let me tell you here and now I’ll never divorce you, or let you divorce me. What I will do, though, is grant you a separation if I’m amply compensated for my trouble and have custody of our boy.’
‘I want a divorce, Elaine, and I mean to have it.’ He was spacing each word now. ‘I’m about to become the father of a child and I want to give it my name.’
Her brows puckered into a frown.
‘It’s a wonder,’ he went on, ‘that with your astute little brain for digging into things, you didn’t guess when Betty told you she was going to have a child.’
Slowly her entire body arched, the upper half leaning backwards as if from a blow. Her mouth, which was still beautiful, opened to its widest extent, then slowly closed, and with it her eyes narrowed almost to slits as she spat out at him, ‘You…you and her? My God! The sneaking, two-faced sanctimonious bitch!’
‘You could be speaking of yourself, Elaine; at least, two-faced and sneaking bitch describes you to a T; but you’ve never been sanctimonious, I’ll grant you that.’
Her shoulders, from being pressed back, now hunched themselves forward and she thrust out her head towards him as she said, ‘I hate you. Do you know that? I hate and loathe you. And this has clinched it: I’ll never give you a divorce as long as you live; she can have your bastard, and good luck to her, but she’ll never have your name.’
‘No? I think she will. If you want to save yourself from going to court and facing a charge of murder then I think you’ll see eye to eye with me over this matter, Elaine.’
Her body was still bent forward, but now she was looking at him in amazement as he said slowly, ‘You shouldn’t look so surprised, for you know what I’m referring to; you killed the child, didn’t you?’
She stepped back against the dressing-table stool and almost overbalanced: then putting her hand out, she gripped the edge of it and lowered herself down on to the seat before saying, ‘You’re mad.’
‘No, no, I’m not mad, and you know it. But it wouldn’t be my word against yours, it would be Dr Levey’s.’
Again her face was screwed up and she mouthed, ‘Dr Levey?’
‘Yes, Dr Levey. Perhaps you’ve noticed Martin hasn’t screamed in his sleep for some time now. Dr Levey put him under hypnosis, and the boy relived the scene when he saw you; the black lady, he calls you. You remember the negligée? Strange; you never wore it after that night, did you? What became of it?’
She was now gripping the front neckline of her silk dress and she gave a silly laugh as she said, ‘Who would believe that? Hypnotism. They can make you say anything.’
He ignored her remark, but said, ‘Remember Nellie? She stated flatly that the boy would never have been able to unhook the side of the cot. And we’re forgetting Betty, of course.’
The name seemed to banish her fear for the moment and she brought her teeth grinding together as she cried, ‘Betty! Betty! I don’t know who I hate the more, you or her.’
‘And that’s odd, because we’re the two people who have done most for you in your life. You used her and you used me; in fact, you made use of her long before you met me.’
‘And in compensation you’ve given her a baby, is that it? Well, I suppose she needs compensation. Did you look at her face when you were at it?’
His jaws were tight. For a moment he couldn’t answer her, but when he did what he said was, ‘Yes, all the while, and I found it more beautiful that I ever found yours.’
Her hand, now groping backwards, gripped the heavy silver hand mirror and the next minute it was flying through the air; and when it struck the mirror above the mantelpiece the glass splattered about him. He didn’t move, but stood perfectly still for a moment; his breath had caught in his throat and he seemed to be holding it endlessly. Then he moved slowly towards the door, all the time keeping his eyes on her where she stood supporting herself against the side of the dressing table, and when he reached it, he said, ‘Get out, and now. You’ll be hearing from me through my solicitors.’
He opened the door, then closed it quickly behind him, so preventing the matching silver brush from coming in contact with his head.
He walked slowly up to the second floor. His father would have heard the commotion and would want to know the reason for it. When he opened the door he found the sitting room empty, and when he stood in the doorway of the workshop he was amazed to see that the shelves along the side wall that had held dozens of miniature models of all descriptions were bare. Some of the models were on the long wooden carpenter’s bench that ran down the centre of the room; others, he noticed, were in boxes.
His father was sitting on a high stool towards the end of the bench, and he turned and looked towards him, saying brusquely, ‘Getting rid of some of these. They can raffle them; bring a little in for something or other.’
‘But why?’ Joe approached him slowly. ‘Why now?’
‘Do you need to ask? But I bear you no hard feelings, lad, not about Betty.’
‘Thanks, Father.’
They stared at each other for a moment longer; then Joe hurried out and down the stairs.
It was as he crossed the hall towards the front door that he heard Elaine speaking on the telephone in the study, and as he went through the door he heard the click of the receiver.
When he was half way down the drive he saw David hurrying towards him.
‘I’m sorry, Joe.’ David said, ‘I’m on duty at half-past seven, so I’ve got to go. I’ve been looking round for Martin. He was out in the back with Elizabeth; she’s just come in and said he ran off. He must have gone back to the house.’
‘I’ve just left it; he wasn’t there. Anyway, you go on; I’ll look for him.’
They parted, and Joe hurried behind The Cottage and through the vegetable garden, past the greenhouses and into the woodland, calling now, ‘Martin! Martin!’ But he got no reply. He then spent almost ten minutes searching the grounds, and as he was nearing The Cottage again he saw a taxi entering the drive and thought to himself: That’s what she was phoning for.
He entered the cottage by the back door calling, ‘Is he there, Hazel?’ And both Hazel and Elizabeth came hurrying from the sitting room.
‘No. No, Joe.’
He was on the point of asking Elizabeth if Martin had said anything out of the ordinary to her before he had left, when the wail of a siren brought their eyes upward, and Hazel cried fearfully, ‘Oh, dear. It can’t be an air raid, surely; not in daylight.’
‘Get into the shelter!’
Joe was reaching out to bustle them through
the room when the back door was thrust open, and they turned to look at Martin standing there, panting.
‘It’s…it’s the siren, Father.’
‘Where do you think you’ve been?’
Joe almost sprang on him and gripping him by the shoulders he shook him, demanding, ‘Why did you run off like that?’
‘I…I…’
‘Well?’
‘If…if you’ll stop shaking me I’ll…I’ll tell you.’ The answer was so unexpected that Joe took his hands from his son’s shoulders and stared at him, while the boy stared hard back at him before answering defiantly, ‘I…I wanted to see mother…just to see her.’
‘Well, did you?’
‘No. I mean yes. She…she saw me from her bedroom window when I was crossing the drive. She shouted to me to stay there, that she was coming down immediately.’
‘Well?’ Joe now watched the boy shake his head before allowing it to droop on to his chest.
‘I didn’t stay; I ran into the garden.’
‘Why did you do that?’ It was a gentle question and Martin answered quietly, ‘I…I didn’t want to go with her—she was making arrangements to take me with her—but…but I thought I’d just like to see her.’
Joe’s hand went slowly out and cupped the boy’s head, and now he asked quietly, ‘But where have you been? I’ve searched the whole place, shouting for you.’
Martin’s head remained down while he answered, ‘I know; I…I heard you. But…but she came after me into the garden. I hid behind the thicket near the fence. And I saw her going up the wood path. She…she was dressed for going away.’
The wail of the siren had died, but now the sound of the car on the drive outside caused Martin to lift his head and the eyes of the others to look towards the sitting room.
It was Elizabeth who ran through the room, to return after a moment and say, ‘It’s a taxi. It’s gone.’
At this point Joe heaved a deep sigh of relief, then said briskly, ‘Come on; let’s get into the shelter.’
As he again went to hustle them from the room there came the sound of nearby anti-aircraft fire, which was followed almost immediately by a distant but nevertheless ominous thud.
‘My God! they’re at the town.’
Soon they were all scampering down the back garden and into the air-raid shelter; at least, all but Joe, who stopped at the top of the steps and looked down at the three faces staring up at him and said, ‘Now stay put. Don’t worry about David; he’ll be all right. I must go up to the house to see to Father. Even though there’s no hope of getting the old fool to leave that floor, nevertheless…’
His words were cut off by another earth-shattering thud, this time closer by.
Joe looked up into the sky and as he heard the unmistakable drone of planes he exclaimed, ‘God! they’re almost overhead.’
‘Come in, Joe!’ Hazel screamed, at the same time grabbing hold of Joe’s trouser leg. But before he could move either one way or the other the earth gave a mighty shudder and he almost fell backwards on top of them. A second later they were all huddled together in a heap in the narrow space of the shelter, with both he and Hazel lying on top of Elizabeth and Martin.
After what seemed an eternity they slowly raised themselves. Joe didn’t speak: he was filled with a great fear, the fear of going up the three steps and of what he would see when he emerged from the shelter.
It was Hazel who said, ‘Those last two were near. Why would they want to drop bombs out here, three miles or more from the docks?’
Joe made no reply, but slowly he went up the steps and into the open. He had hardly straightened up before he cried aloud, ‘The house! Hazel. The house!’ and then he was tearing over the vegetable garden, through the gap in the hedge and on to the drive. But before he rounded the bend he knew what he would find, for he couldn’t see the sky for the cloud of dust. When he reached the rubble that had been his house he folded his arms tightly around his waist and hugged himself in an agony of despair as he whimpered, ‘Oh! Father. Father. Oh no! No! Father. Father. Oh my God! No, no.’
The house had taken a direct hit and the blast had spread the rubble to three times its area. He looked down at the block of masonry at his feet, the clematis leaves still clinging to it. The spire of the observatory was wedged downwards like an ice-cream cone in the forks of an oak tree. Part of the wall of the drawing room was standing, the mantelshelf protruding above the rubble, and above it, hanging at an angle, the picture of a Dutch interior. He could only make out the frame, but in his mind’s eye he saw the housewife and the child and the wonderful perspective of the tiled floor.
A burst of flame to his right brought his head slowly round to where the kitchen had stood…Mary would be at that end.
He wasn’t aware that anyone had joined him until he heard Martin whimper, ‘Oh! Grandpa. Grandpa.’
Joe turned slowly and looked speechlessly at Hazel and Elizabeth. The girl was crying and for a moment he envied her: he wanted to cry, he wanted to fling himself down on the ground and beat his fists into the earth. Oh! Father. Father.
Why hadn’t he insisted on his father living downstairs? But would that have made any difference now? Why hadn’t he stayed with him a little longer this evening and helped him pack away the efforts of a lifetime? Well, there had been Elaine. Elaine. Elaine. Always Elaine. Blast her! Blast her to hell! He recalled the look on Mike’s face: it was as if he had known what was coming.
They all turned slowly away from the smoking rubble and looked down the drive from where was coming the sound of a heavy vehicle and also the ringing of an ambulance bell.
The twilight was deepening when they lifted the last piece of timber from across Mike. The beams supporting the tower must have struck him immediately. He was all grey from the hair on his head to his slippers. Even the blood from his neck, which had soaked his clothes, was dusted with grey.
It was Joe and David, with the assistance of two Local Defence Volunteers, who carried him over the tangle of debris and laid him on the grass verge.
As if in respect, the men walked away towards the ambulance, to leave the father and son together for a short time. What they didn’t know was that there were two sons looking down on their father, and it was David who spoke. His voice deep, yet scarcely above a whisper, he said, ‘It’s the first time I’ve touched him in my life.’
Joe said nothing. He was weighed down with sadness, yet David’s words pierced it with a thread of condemnation: ‘It’s the first time I’ve touched him in my life.’ How would he have felt if his father hadn’t acknowledged him? David hadn’t known that he was the son of the boss until after his supposed father had died, when Frank Brooks had left him the truth in a letter.
He himself had come to the truth through his mother. He was eight years old when he knew that David was his half-brother.
A voice behind them said now, ‘If you don’t mind, sir,’ and both he and David stood aside to allow the two men to lift the twisted body on to a stretcher; and they had reached the ambulance with it before Joe, seeming to come to himself, hurried to them and asked, ‘Where are you taking him?’
‘To the hospital mortuary, sir, at St Margaret’s.’
He nodded at them, then watched them close the doors on the man he had loved…and pitied.
As the ambulance drove away he turned to where David was still standing and he said quietly, ‘Don’t hold any bitterness against him, David. He thought of you. Most of the time he thought of you. It lay heavy on his conscience. He watched you; he had pride in you. You know he would have done things for you years ago if you would have let him. Don’t be bitter.’
‘How would you feel in my shoes?’
‘Much the same as you are feeling now, but the past is something that can’t be relived. What we can do, though, in the future is to let it be known what we are to each other.’
David made no reply; he simply turned to look towards where the kitchen had been and muttered, ‘We’d better find
Mary.’
Four
Four days later they buried Mike. There had been quite a number of people waiting in the cemetery, and the little chapel had been full. Joe and David stood side by side at the open grave; Martin stood on Joe’s right, and next to him was Betty.
When the first clods of earth were thrown on the coffin, slowly, one after the other, they turned away. But instead of returning to the cortège, they followed the minister down the centre drive of the cemetery to where Mary was now being borne to her place of rest…
Then it was over and they were in the car again being driven back to The Cottage.
For the last four nights Joe and Martin had slept in the tiny spare room in The Cottage, and for the past three nights Betty had put up at an hotel in Fellburn.
They were all silent until they entered the sitting room, and then in a burst of activity Hazel set about making the tea and talking rapidly as she did so.
‘Get your things off and sit up; it’s ready.’ She pointed to the table that was set for a cold meal. ‘The kettle won’t be a minute. Elizabeth, take Miss Betty’s things. David, fill that scuttle, will you? The fire’s getting low. What a change in the weather this last two days.’
When there came a knock on the door Hazel stopped her prattling and looked towards it, and then at David, saying, ‘See who that is, will you?’
David opened the door to a uniformed boy, who offered him a buff-coloured envelope.
‘It’s…it’s for a Mrs Remington. The house is down but I thought…’
David turned and handed the telegram to Joe and he, after staring at it for a moment, opened it and read it. ‘Tried to ring you. No reply. Uncle T worried. L.’
‘Is there any reply?’
Joe looked at the boy, then said, ‘No. No.’ He now handed the telegram to David; then, after a moment, he said, ‘What does it mean?’ and for answer David said quietly, ‘But she returned to London, didn’t she?’
Justice is a Woman Page 27
