If this continues much longer, I will come up to London when I can, and try to find this man Solon, who must know where she is.
‘You really must stop worrying about it,’ Manny told her, when he read the letter. ‘I can’t help thinking she’s with this bloke because she wants to be. But why is she hanging on to the flat?’
‘Perhaps she isn’t sure that this is a permanent arrangement. Her husband actually sounds like a decent man, though he was wrong to snatch Yvette as he did. Maybe he hoped that would force Lilli to return to him, despite him insisting he didn’t want to see her.’
It was a Friday evening, but Manny hadn’t made his weekly visit to the pub since Buck took up residence in the basement. He wanted to be around in case Buck seized the opportunity to keep Florence company. Familiarity was certainly not to be encouraged.
Florence was nearing the end of her pregnancy. On the doctor’s advice she was only working in the mornings now. Manny was actually glad of Buck’s help in the shop. He couldn’t fault his work. Buck tackled all he was asked to do, and the customers liked him. After a month, they managed to pay him, a basic wage. Manny remained wary of his erstwhile comrade. However, Buck had Sunday lunch with them, at Florence’s insistence.
‘I can’t seem to settle this evening,’ Florence remarked presently, shifting on the sofa.
‘Let me rub your back,’ Manny offered. He’d noted her pale face, the occasional grimace; her evident discomfort. He loosened the ties of the kimono, which she’d changed into after supper; insinuated his hands under the straps of her nightgown to begin the gentle massage.
‘Thank you, that helps,’ she breathed gratefully after a while.
‘I’m glad,’ he said softly. ‘I like our Friday evenings on our own, don’t you?’
‘You know I do. Though I wonder what Rose Marie is up to with Russ every weekend.’
‘You can guess as well as I can . . . His mother must know, eh?’
‘They’ll be married soon, of course, but—’
‘You sound more like her mother than her sister!’ Manny teased.
Florence took a deep breath. Was this the time to tell him? ‘Manny,’ she began.
He looked solemn, sensing the importance of what she wanted to say.
‘Manny, there is something I should have told you, before we got married.’
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘There’s no easy way to say it. You see, Rose Marie is my daughter . . .’
‘I don’t understand why you couldn’t trust me.’
‘It’s not that. I suppose I’ve had to live with the lie since before she was born; my father forced that on me! I was sixteen when it happened. I was ignorant of the facts of life, Manny. Rose Marie doesn’t know. How can I tell her now, when she’s so happy and in love?’
‘Who was it?’ he demanded harshly.
‘It doesn’t matter. I never told him. He was only a boy. We were both—’
‘As green as grass? What you said to me?’ He sounded more sad than reproachful.
‘Yes! Yes!’ She was sobbing now, clutching her swollen belly. ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Can I forgive you?’ he repeated. ‘Dear Florence, I love you! How you must have suffered over this all these years . . . But I don’t know how or when you can break the news to Rose Marie, that’s a fact.’
Florence let him wipe her tears away with his handkerchief. Then he held her close, and rocked her in his arms.
‘It was the best thing I ever did,’ she whispered. ‘Marrying you. Soon, I’ll be able to tell the world I’m the mother of your child!’
‘And I’ll be so proud to hear you say that,’ he said.
*
Lilli was already in bed when Philippe arrived back at the apartment that night. She thought, I must go through with it, I can’t go on like this. If I can fool him into thinking I’m happy living with him, he may relax the rules and then, when I get the opportunity to run, I’ll take it.
She hadn’t been out of the flat since she arrived. The only company she had during the day from Monday to Friday was Annie, the maid. She thought wryly, my jailor. She was not even permitted to open the window. As if she could escape that way – it was a sheer drop.
Lilli found the relationship between Annie and Philippe intriguing. Annie may have worn a neat black dress and white apron, but she also wore sheer silk stockings and her hair was startlingly blonde and expensively Marcel-waved. Annie had purchased Lilli’s new clothes; they were stylish and the lingerie was exquisite – seductive, she thought, wondering if this was Annie’s choice, or her employer’s. Annie, Lilli thought, does not like me. Maybe she’s jealous. She obviously feels passionately about the man she calls Mr Brown . . .
In the beginning, Lilli had thought of writing to Sam, explaining her dilemma and appealing for his help. Then she realized she didn’t even know the address of this place, and, anyway, how could she trust Annie to post a letter? She would likely pass it to Philippe. She tried not to think about Yvette. Surely her little girl must feel she had rejected her?
She always left her bedside lamp on low so that Philippe could pass quietly through to the bathroom before retiring. She feigned sleep, but was vibrantly aware of his presence when he paused by the bed and looked down at her, before wishing her a good night. That was all.
This evening they had dined together, but, as usual, he had excused himself after the meal. What was this mysterious business he had to attend to, she wondered?
Now, as he entered the room, she consciously forced herself to relax, to stretch her arms as if suddenly awakening, then opened her eyes as he stopped by the bed.
He said merely, ‘I apologize if I disturbed you, Lilli. Go back to sleep. It is late.’
Instead, she sat up, pushing back the covers. She was clad in the most sensuous of her nightgowns, a Parisian affair in bias-cut oyster satin which left nothing to the imagination. Surely he must note the agitated rise and fall of her bosom, she thought.
‘I’m not tired any more; I just sleep a lot because I’m bored,’ she stated. ‘I eat too much for the same reason, I must have put on weight.’ She was well aware it suited her.
‘It is my fault, I admit it, that you feel like that. But, what can I do?’
‘Talk to me. You owe me that, Philippe. How much longer must I be here?’
‘I cannot say. Have you thought, Lilli, very hard about the reason for this? There must be an answer, if not an obvious one. You possess something which, if you give it up, will ensure you can return to a normal life.’
‘I’ve told you all along, I have absolutely no idea what these people want from me,’ she asserted defiantly.
His hands were warm as they steadied her own gesturing hands. Very gently, he began to stroke her arms with an upward motion until he reached her shaking shoulders.
‘Lie down,’ he said soothingly. ‘You are trembling.’
‘I’m frightened. You see, I thought,’ she whispered, as he eased her down in the bed, ‘I would try to . . .’
‘Seduce me?’ he sounded amused. ‘Would you prefer the alternative?’ He reached out, clicked off the light. ‘I won’t be long. There is no need for pretence in the dark.’
When he touched me, Lilli thought, I knew he desired me, as I do him . . .
SEVENTEEN
FLORENCE and Rose Marie were having a heart-to-heart discussion late on Sunday evening. Manny wisely left them to it, and went to bed.
‘Had a good weekend at the Shorts’?’ Florence asked casually.
‘His mother keeps on about the wedding . . .’ Rose Marie sounded rather disgruntled.
‘Well, it’s only natural. She’s excited; we all are.’
‘I thought it was the bride’s mother who fussed about clothes and wedding cake.’
‘The cake is sitting snugly in the tin; I’ll ice it after the baby arrives when I’m more myself.’
‘I’m very pleased for you, you
know I am, because you’ll be a real mother at last, and you’ve certainly had plenty of experience in that role with Stella, me and Josefina, but I’m not at all sure I want a baby myself,’ said Rose Marie thoughtfully.
‘You may change your mind. Meanwhile, make the most of being just the two of you.’
‘Oh, we are! Dear Florence, you won’t have the embarrassment of telling me what’s what before the wedding, will you?’
‘You know it all, do you?’ Florence said wryly.
‘I don’t suppose you did! Was it rather a shock? Sorry! I shouldn’t have asked that.’
Florence looked ruefully at her baby bulge. ‘As you can see, I found out. Actually . . .’ She hesitated, gathering courage. ‘I was impulsive myself at your age . . .’
Rose Marie exclaimed, ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘It’s time I told you. It’s been on my mind, with the wedding coming up, and arrangements to make: you’ll need your birth certificate—’
‘I’m aware of that! You’re not trying to tell me I’m adopted, are you? Why, everyone says how much I look like you!’
Florence took a deep breath. There was that niggling, fleeting pain again, she thought.
‘That’s always been a comfort to me. You see, I was only allowed to keep you, on promising my father not to tell anyone I had given birth to you.’
There was a long silence. Florence could see the disbelief on Rose Marie’s face.
‘How could you!’ she said at last.
‘It was the only thing I could do. I was just seventeen, younger than you are now, still an innocent child really, my father had seen to that.’
‘The man concerned took advantage of you?’ Rose Marie demanded.
Florence shook her head, putting out a tentative hand, only to be rebuffed.
‘Tell me!’
‘He was a few months older than me. I suppose I was looking to fall in love, and so was he. My father and stepmother had gone to a temperance meeting at the Tabernacle. Stella was in bed. He was keeping me company. We sneaked into my parent’s room, and one thing led to another. We couldn’t stop ourselves. My father caught us together and the lad was lucky to escape with just a thrashing. My stepmother was kind; she stuck up for me, despite him railing at her. I was never able to tell my . . . friend, about the baby, about you, Rose Marie.’
‘Were you in love with him?’
‘I thought I was. It was nothing like I feel for dear Manny now. Can you forgive me?’
‘I wish you had told me years ago, so I could get used to the idea!’
‘I wish that, too . . .’
‘Well, I’m going to bed, it’s all too much to take in tonight.’
Even as Rose Marie rose and made to leave Florence without the usual affectionate kiss on her cheek, Florence cried out. There was a spreading damp patch on her nightgown.
‘Quick! Call Manny, I think my waters have gone! The baby’s on its way.’
Rose Marie ran out of the room, shouting for Manny. He appeared in his pyjamas. ‘Whatever is it?’
‘Florence!’ She was sobbing bitterly now. ‘She told me I was her daughter, then I was mad at her and she suddenly screamed. She’s in labour, Manny, and it’s all my fault!’
He gripped her arm, turned her round. ‘Stop it! You’ll have to help me. She loves you, Rose Marie,’ he added reproachfully.
‘I know, of course I do! I’m so sorry . . .’
*
Florence had prepared herself for a long drawn-out labour, which had been her lot last time. However, the new baby was obviously in a great hurry. The pains intensified rapidly and Manny tried not to panic. Rose Marie pulled herself together, rang for the doctor. He would have to cycle from his home, further out than the surgery.
The doctor’s calm voice told her what to do. ‘Protect the bed with newspapers or brown paper, if you have it. Boil plenty of water. Plait a length of torn sheeting, tie to the bedpost and allow your sister to pull hard on it when the time comes.’
‘How will I know when that is?’ Rose Marie cried.
‘Mrs Manning will tell you. Reassure her, rub her back, sponge her face. I will be as quick as I can. Ask her husband to unlock the front door, turn on the light in the hall.’
Manny heard the knock on the door as he shot back the bolts. Surely it couldn’t be the doctor already? Buck stood there.
‘What’s up? All the lights blazing! Is it Florence? Can I help?’
‘Doc’s on his way. Go back to bed. You’ll have to look after the shop tomorrow.’
‘What about the pies?’
‘Who cares about the bloody pies?’ Manny yelled uncharacteristically.
‘Good luck, then.’ Buck took the hint, retreated down the basement steps.
The little white cat nipped indoors ahead of him. Blanche had declined to move upstairs with Manny and despite Buck’s indifference to her, she’d attached herself to him.
He was about to turn her out into the yard when she began weaving in and out of his legs, purring. Buck actually bent over and stroked her.
‘All right, I give in. Reckon you’re the only real pal I’ve got, despite your silly name.’
*
Rose Marie fashioned a rough plait, having ripped up a good sheet in her desperation. She fastened it above Florence’s head and positioned her hands firmly round the rope end.
‘Pull when you want to, Florence!’
‘Doc’s here!’ Manny rushed to the kitchen door to let him in.
He stood there, divesting himself of his jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves, requesting a clean apron. He opened the black bag and put it ready on the bedside table. He motioned to Rose Marie to move aside, so that he could examine Florence.
‘I need a bowl of hot water and soap, to wash my hands. Can you fetch that for me?’
Rose Marie went out thankfully, but Manny hovered uncertainly by the open door. The next moment, the doctor was bending over his patient, encouraging her to pull on the rope, and the baby literally shot into the world, into the doctor’s hands.
Rose Marie had to step over Manny, who had keeled over from the shock and was slumped in the doorway. She stood there, slopping the bowl of water, staring incredulously as the tiny infant was slapped, bawling indignantly, into life, then given to Florence to hold.
‘It’s a boy, Rose Marie, what we hoped for . . .’ she said faintly.
The doctor hauled Manny to his feet, led him to the bed.
‘It’s a boy,’ Florence repeated.
‘What are we going to call him?’ Manny was still swaying slightly.
‘We did mention Flinders, or is that too solemn?’
‘Flinders.’ He considered for a moment. ‘How about Flynn, my mother’s maiden name?’
‘Flynn, yes, that sounds right. What d’you think, Rose Marie?’ Florence asked.
However, Rose Marie had set down the bowl and gone away.
‘Better make the tea,’ the doctor advised Manny. ‘It’s time to eliminate the placenta, and as you appear to be squeamish . . . please tell your sister-in-law I can do with her help.’
Manny hadn’t the faintest idea what the placenta might be, but he went off obediently.
The baby was washed by the time Manny returned, having taken his time, and Rose Marie was carefully dressing him in one of the loose flannel gowns Florence had sewed so painstakingly. Florence too had been made comfortable, she was reclining against plumped-up pillows in the bed.
‘I must leave you,’ the doctor said, drinking his tea in one long draught. ‘But I will return to make sure all is well, before morning surgery. On my way home I will put a note through the nurse’s door to ask her to come at seven. You had booked her, as I suggested, for the laying-in?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Florence’s voice sounded husky. She held out her arms for the baby. ‘I made the crib up today. I must have tempted fate! He’s rather small, are you sure—?’
‘He’s slightly
premature, but nothing to worry about. Well done, my dear!’
‘Thank you, Doctor, for everything,’ she told him.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Rose Marie said quickly. ‘Then I must get to bed. Work tomorrow! Sleep well, Florence.’
‘I believe I will! Thank you for your support, Rose Marie, it means a lot to me.’
After they left, Manny placed the baby carefully in the crib alongside the bed.
‘He’s asleep,’ he whispered.
‘He won’t wake up properly for a day or two, as I recall.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘But then we’ll really know he’s here! Manny, come to bed, you must be exhausted.’
‘Not as much as you are!’ He left the light low, settled himself thankfully beside her. ‘You can kiss me, you know . . . You’ll have to be up and about before the nurse comes.’
‘I realized that. Also that I must put a sign up on the shop door: CLOSED DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES.’
‘Only for one day, Manny, then you’ll have to get Buck to help with the pie-making!’
Florence thought, Buck. He must never know that he fathered Rose Marie, nor must Manny. I mustn’t tell her either. She’ll need time to get over knowing I’m her mother . . .
*
The nurse, plump and comfortable, was already in charge of mother and baby, when Rose Marie emerged from her bedroom, carrying a suitcase. She’d waited until she heard Manny go into the bathroom, and she wanted to leave without creating a scene. She placed a letter addressed to Florence on the table. She’d written in pencil, at dawn:
Dearest Florence,
You will feel I am deserting you just when you need me, but I can’t help it. I feel so mixed up inside. I must get away.
I will stay with Stella. I will telephone her first, after work.
Don’t say anything if you speak to her earlier, will you?
You must believe me when I say I love you still, and that I am glad your baby has arrived safely.
Please don’t upset yourself about all this; it will not be good for you.
You and Manny are a family now, and I need to go my own way. Grow up quickly, I suppose!
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