Tara

by Lesley Pearse

  Even Mabel had to admit there was something quite soothing about seeing the clean baby plugged into its food source, and listening to the soft sucking sound. Ralph brought her tea and cake while she filled Lucy in with all the village gossip. She enjoyed feeling like Lady Bountiful, producing all the food from her bag, even if the butter had run out from the waxed paper.

  'Your mother's so sweet.' Lucy dipped her finger in the honey. 'Does your father know she sent all this?'

  "That was his contribution.' Mabel blushed a little, embarrassed that Lucy still remembered her father's meanness. 'Mother slipped all the rest in while he wasn't looking.'

  'Is he still as stern?' Lucy leaned forward in her bed and reached for Mabel's hand/Does he let you walk out with anyone?'

  Mabel tossed her hair back impatiently.

  'There's no-one in the village I want to walk out with, but he's as suspicious and grumpy as ever. You can't imagine how pleased I was to get away for a while.'

  She couldn't bring herself to admit that her father was set on her marrying Sydney Luckwell, a farmer in the neighbouring village of Stanton Drew. He was at least thirty-five, with rotten teeth and a fat stomach, and the mere thought of him turned hers.

  'You look exhausted, Mabel.' Ralph's narrow face was concerned. 'Perhaps you'd like to go to bed now, the journey must have been tiring for you and I don't want yet another patient on my hands.'

  'What would you like me to do tomorrow?' Mabel asked, unsure whether Lucy was just in bed early or actually bedridden.

  'If you could just manage to take Edward out for a walk during the day,' Ralph said brightly, dashing her hopes of shopping in the West End. 'Perhaps a little mending and ironing and make some lunch for us? It will give Lucy time to get her strength back.'

  'Don't you have a nursemaid?' Mabel asked before she went off to the little room next door. She had already adjusted to the small, cramped flat which was clean and cosy even if it was unbearably stuffy, and Ralph was a great deal nicer than she remembered.

  'We can't afford one,' Lucy said without a trace of embarrassment. 'We have a woman to come in and do the rough work, but most of Ralph's patients are very poor. We usually have to wait for months to get paid, and sometimes we never get it. Everything will be all right when I'm strong again. We're very happy here.'

  Mabel's opinion of Lucy's new life fluctuated over the next two days between horror and envy. She overheard the rough Cockney voices from the waiting room below, glimpsed the ragged wretches who waited patiently for their turn to see Dr Soames and recoiled in disgust at the smells which wafted up the stairs. Yet for all the squalor below, Lucy and Ralph had something special.

  The cramped rooms upstairs were an oasis of tranquillity. Old furniture handed down from their families was shiny with polish; white lace curtains softened the misery beyond the windows. But it was love Mabel could sense – the caring way Ralph tucked Lucy's feet up on a stool; Lucy's dark eyes soft with pride as she spoke of Ralph's practice, and fat, happy Edward lying in his crib gurgling and smiling, adored by both his parents.

  Mabel had never experienced such warmth. Mother scampered to attend to Papa's meals like a frightened mouse as soon as he strode into the kitchen. He criticised everything, or sank into his chair by the range in sullen silence. Both Mabel and Emily had learned to keep quiet until spoken to, learned to anticipate his every need and never once had they heard their father ask his wife's opinion on anything.

  'It's nice here,' Mabel blurted out after returning with some vegetables for lunch. As a guest of Dr Soames she had been treated like a lady in the local shop, and she was beginning to see the worthwhile nature of Ralph's work.

  'The people are kind and caring, even if they are poor,' Lucy said, putting Edward up on her shoulder and looking out of the window. 'I know it's not quite the racy life we planned when we were playing tennis on the cricket pitch, but I'm happy here.'

  'I don't think I'm ever going to fall in love,' Mabel said wistfully/How can I ever meet anyone when I'm at home all day?'

  'Maybe you shouldn't think of a husband being the only way out,' Lucy said softly. 'If I could draw and paint like you I think I'd try to find a job using my talents.'

  'Papa wouldn't hear of it.' Mabel sighed.

  'He couldn't really stop you if your heart was set on it.' Lucy smiled. 'The War has changed things for women, you know, thousands have to get jobs now.'

  'She's right,' Ralph said as he came in to have his lunch. 'Don't be intimidated by your father, Mabel, it's your life.'

  That afternoon was hot and sunny and, armed with a bottle of sugar water and a clean nappy, Mabel walked Edward in his baby carriage towards Regent's Park. As the roads widened and the dark rows of squalid houses were left behind a joyful feeling of expectancy rose inside her. All at once she was in the London of her dreams – elegant crescents with carriages waiting outside, smartly dressed couples walking arm in arm, nursemaids wheeling their charges, small boys in sailor suits armed with hoops and toy sailing boats, little girls in white frilly dresses and sun-bonnets.

  Mabel turned into the park, sat down on a bench under a tree and watched the fashion show pass by, gently rocking the pram with one hand. She was aware of a man coming towards her, just a glimpse of broad shoulders in an immaculately tailored grey suit, fancy waistcoat, winged collar and top-hat. At that very moment Edward began to scream.

  Mabel had become quite enamoured with the fat, placid baby, who had Lucy's dark curls and cherubic features, but at that moment she loathed him for drawing attention to her. Rocking the pram made no difference and when the man stopped, raised his hat and smiled, she blushed and felt hopelessly inadequate.

  She saw a flash of blond hair and white, even teeth. Even though she tried not to meet his stare she was aware of dark blue eyes studying her. He was what they called a dandy back home.

  She hoped that if she ignored him he'd go away, but he stood and watched her feeble attempts to quieten the child. There was nothing for it but to lift Edward out, though by now she was flustered.

  'Oh, do stop it,' she snapped.

  'Fine nursemaid you are,' the man said. 'Do his parents know you speak to him like that?'

  She should have walked the pram away, nose in the air, but instead she answered him.

  'I'm not a nursemaid. He belongs to a friend who's ill. I was hoping he wouldn't wake up.' She hoisted Edward up into her arms and sat down with him on the bench. Almost immediately he wet himself, soaking the front of her dress and shaming her further.

  'Where are you from?' The man moved closer. 'I know the accent but I can't place it.'

  'Somerset,' she said grudgingly. 'And I wish I was back there now.'

  Edward stopped yelling and belched loudly, bringing up some milk, then smiled beatifically.

  'Mucky things, babies,' the man said. 'May I sit down?'

  Mabel knew exactly how to flirt – making bright frothy conversation was second nature to her – but not with a baby in her arms, and a wet dress.

  'I'm surprised you want to,' she snapped.

  'Well, it's a lovely day. You're the prettiest girl in the park and he's quite a bonny baby.'

  Reason told her it was madness to encourage a total stranger, particularly one as young and handsome as this. But she couldn't help herself. There was a bright, boyish quality about him, though she guessed he was at least twenty-five. Without being impertinent he asked her questions and in no time she had told him her whole story, even admitting she'd thought she was coming to London for fun.

  'So you're a bit disappointed?' His blue eyes glinted mischievously at her description of the patients in Ralph's surgery and her narrow view of London. 'Suppose I asked you out to dinner, somewhere you could wear the white organza. Would you accept?'

  She felt a sudden tingle, a rush of blood to her head and goose-pimples popping up all over her. She lowered her eyelashes demurely and giggled.

  'How could I?' she asked. 'I don't even know your name.'
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  'Arthur Randall.' He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 'Miss Brady, would you take dinner with me?'

  He was teasing her, she felt the laughter inside him even though his face was serious. She noticed his long lashes and slightly upturned nose, and the softness of his lips on her hand made her blush.

  'I don't know.' She was torn now.

  'You mean you don't know what to say to your friends, or you don't know if having dinner would be agreeable?' He raised one blond eyebrow.

  Edward had fallen asleep in her arms, thumb firmly in his little mouth.

  'I must go back.' Mabel's voice sounded shaky. 'It's a long walk.'

  'I'll get a cab,' he said quickly. 'You could tell your friends I'm someone you met back home and you just bumped into me in the park. I could be a friend of the family, perhaps?'

  'Charles Plowright,' Mabel said. 'He lives in a big house nearby. Lucy only knows him by name, he's something in shipping.'

  She giggled with excitement. 'He's the kind of man who does have many friends, we could say we met at a tennis party.'

  Lucy was completely bowled over by Arthur, as he picked up little Edward and commiserated with her about her illness. Lies tripped off his tongue so effortlessly, Mabel found herself almost believing the tale about the game of tennis the previous summer.

  'I haven't seen Charles since,' he said convincingly. 'I was down in Bristol doing some business with his company, but unfortunately my work rarely takes me beyond Tilbury these days. What a surprise it was to see Mabel sitting in the park. We'd been talking for some time before I realised little Edward wasn't her baby.'

  He hit just the right note. 'I'm having dinner tonight with some business associates and I was short of a partner. Could you spare Mabel for one evening?'

  'Just as long as you bring her home at a reasonable hour,' Ralph said. 'Lucy is so much better since Mabel came, we owe her at least one night of dressing up and conversation that doesn't involve babies or sickness.'

  'You look beautiful,' Arthur said once they were back in the cab, speeding away down Gray's Inn Road. 'I've booked us a table at the Cafe Royal.'

  Mabel had fallen for Arthur even before the waiter tucked her chair into the table and placed the napkin on her lap. It wasn't the grandeur of the place, the soft lights, the quartet playing softly or the elegant people. It was just him. That tingle she'd felt in the park was becoming more intense; when his hand reached out across the table and covered hers a strange feeling came over her and she found herself looking at his mouth and wanting to kiss it. Such fleshy, succulent lips, curving in a way that gave the impression of a permanent smile.

  Whatever Ralph had said about the sad state of the country, there was no evidence of it here tonight. Aside from the peals of gay laughter, sumptuous food and the conspicuous consumption of wine and Champagne, the clothes alone said Ralph was over-reacting. The women wore silk and velvet dresses, in styles too new for Mabel to recognise. Diamonds sparkled on throats and fingers, wafts of French perfume reached her nostrils.

  Ralph had implied that half the men in London had been injured in the War, yet she saw no sign of that, either. The men in dinner jackets, silk cummerbunds and bow-ties who leaned so attentively towards their partners were all able bodied, fit and healthy.

  Perhaps she ought to have felt an urge for caution when Arthur let slip snippets about his past that didn't quite add up, but each time she looked into his bright eyes, or his hand brushed hers across the snowy tablecloth, she felt herself falling deeper and deeper.

  'How did you get that?' she asked, lightly touching a thin scar that ran from his ear and disappeared under his collar.

  'In India.' He grinned ruefully, a dimple in his chin growing deeper. 'A cavalry charge to quell the natives. I was lucky to get off so lightly, most of my regiment were killed.'

  He spoke of tiger hunts, the heat of Calcutta, playing polo and his bungalow in the Himalayas, weaving an image for her of the gallant men who protected the British Empire.

  'I've hardly ever left my village,' Mabel admitted. She couldn't bring herself to tell him she'd never eaten in a restaurant before, or that the only person she'd danced with was Lucy in the storeroom at the back of the post office. 'But now I've come to London I've got a terrible burning to see more of the world. Papa wants me to marry a farmer. I don't think I could bear that.'

  'Mabel, you are much too beautiful to waste yourself in the country,' Arthur said, lifting her hand and kissing the tips of her fingers. 'People like you and me, with imagination and daring, should live in places like America or Africa. England's too small for us.'

  No man she'd ever met talked like Arthur. He painted scenes so bright and vivid she could see them as clearly as if she were there. There were no awkward silences; he moved on effortlessly from India to his spell in the trenches in France, making light of the conditions and the carnage. He made her laugh about the characters he'd met. Her long-held dream of the big country house, vast lawns and servants faded. Instead he was building her a new one. Now she was in an elegant townhouse, throwing smart dinner parties and soirees. She would become a famous artist, travel extensively and together they would be the couple on everyone's lips.

  What was there for her back in Somerset? Washing clothes, scouring milk churns, feeding the hens. Marriage there wouldn't release her from drudgery; a suitable husband in Papa's eyes would be a man as hard and penny-pinching as himself.

  Later, they danced. With Arthur's arms around her she forgot Papa. Somehow she had to stay in London long enough for Arthur to fall in love with her. A man who had fought natives in India and been in the trenches of France wouldn't crumble when faced with James Brady.

  She let him kiss her on the ride home without so much as a faint protest. If he had suggested taking her on somewhere else she would have agreed without a second thought. But he made no such suggestion, just delivered her home and promised to be in touch soon.

  Late-night plans and schemes were one thing, but by daylight Mabel saw the problems she faced. Lucy was so much better that Ralph spoke of taking her and Edward to Brighton at the weekend. There was no alternative but to go home; but how could she when her heart was still in the keeping of a man whose address she didn't even know?

  On Friday night, her bag already packed for home, Arthur finally called. This time Mabel didn't wait for him to win Ralph round and charm Lucy, instead she threw on a light shawl and went out with him for a walk.

  Everything was against them. It began to rain soon after they left the house and Mabel knew Lucy was hurt that she didn't want to spend her last night with them. She felt shamed when Arthur suggested sheltering from the rain in a public house. Drinking in a restaurant or at a party was one thing; sitting in a smoky dive with rough men and dubious women was quite another.

  'We can't stand out in this,' Arthur said, as they sheltered under a shop canopy. 'We've got to talk, Mabel, if you're going home. Come home to my lodgings.'

  He took her there in a cab, rain belting down so hard they could barely hear the wheels or the clopping hooves of the horse.

  She noticed little of the house, or where it was, other than an image of a tall, narrow building between two shops on a busy road. A woman popped her head round the door as Arthur led her up the stairs. She had a pinched, spiteful face with a tooth missing.

  'No women in this house, Mr Randall,' she screeched. 'I told you that when you came here.'

  'This is my cousin, Miss Brady,' Arthur said quickly. 'She's just on her way to the West Country and we wanted to talk out of the rain.'

  'As long as she's out of here by ten,' the woman snapped. 'I've got my reputation to think of.'

  'I'm sorry.' Arthur took Mabel's shawl from her shoulders and laid it over a chair back to dry. 'I should have planned something the other night, instead of leaving everything so late.'

  'It doesn't matter,' she whispered, surprised by the shabbiness of his room, yet aware that this was her last chance to make a lasting im
pression on him.

  'Oh, Mabel, it does.' He sighed deeply, leaning on the mantelpiece and looking at her long and hard. 'To be honest I didn't intend to get in touch again, but I couldn't let you go without telling the truth.'

  Her heart sank – he was going to admit he was married. She could see her reflection in the smeared mirror behind him. Wisps of hair had come loose; the little green hat she had thought so smart showed her to be the little country girl she really was. Now she was going to make herself look even more pathetic by crying.

  His grey suit was the same one he had worn the day they met. The stiff wing collar was wilting now with the damp, and his blue eyes looked sad.

  'I've fallen in love, Mabel.'

  She gasped, turning pink with embarrassment. Telling her he was married would have been bad enough, but to admit he'd met someone he liked better was an insult.

  'I hope you'll be happy with her.' She bit back tears and stuck her chin out defiantly. 'Now you've made your confession I'd better go home. Kindly get me a cab.'

  His face broke into a wide smile. 'Not with another girl, silly goose,' he laughed. 'It's you I've fallen for. I didn't think it could happen to me. I tried to fight it off and forget you.'

  She couldn't speak, a lump was growing in her throat and all at once the damp clothes, Lucy and her parents' disapproval didn't matter. She flung herself at him, raining kisses on his mouth, his cheeks and chin.

  'I love you, too, Arthur. I couldn't bear it when you didn't come round. I want to stay in London with you.'

  She heard no warning bells in her head. She was alone in a man's bedroom, but all she could feel were the crazy beating of her heart, the warmth of his body and a delicious melting sensation.

  One moment he was kissing her, standing in the middle of the drab little room, the next they were on the bed, straining to get closer.

  She knew she shouldn't let him unbutton her bodice and touch her breasts, but somehow she couldn't prevent him. The wonderful sensations washing over her as his lips nuzzled and sucked at her dispelled her fears and swept her into a world where nothing mattered but the moment.