The Londoners

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘Yes, but not at the fête. We don’t want anyone listening in and you can bet your life that’s what would happen. Why don’t we call on her one evening next week? She’s always glad of company and we can cross her palm with silver and discover our destinies. What does she charge? Do you know?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. I think she just charges what she thinks people can afford.’

  Carrie lay flat on her back and stretched a capable-looking hand high into the air, staring at the palm musingly. ‘I wonder what she’ll see there? Do you think she’ll be able to tell me who I’m going to marry? Do you think he’ll be tall, dark, handsome and rich?’

  ‘I think he’ll probably be five-foot-nine with a hint of red in his hair, more than passably good-looking and a private in the army,’ Kate said dryly.

  It was a fairly adequate description of Danny Collins and Carrie threw a pillow at her. ‘I am not going to marry someone I’ve known since I was in nursery school,’ she said firmly, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed. ‘I’m going to marry someone dangerously exciting, someone who will sweep me off my feet . . .’

  ‘Someone who’s taking a heck of a long time in appearing on the scene,’ Kate finished for her.

  Carrie grinned ruefully. ‘He is, isn’t he?’ she said, standing up. ‘Perhaps Miss Helliwell will be able to tell me what’s keeping him. Shall we go and see her tomorrow night?’

  Kate nodded, as eager as Carrie to have a glimpse into her future. ‘Where are you going now?’ she asked as Carrie picked up her clutch bag. ‘The dentist?’

  Carrie shuddered. ‘Yes, God help me. This is the third appointment I’ve made and if the last two are anything to go by my nerve is going to fail me again long before I reach the surgery!’

  When Carrie had reluctantly gone on her way, Kate went in search of her father. He was in the back garden, a battered straw hat shading his head from the sun as he sowed Brussels sprouts seeds in carefully prepared seed trays. She sat down on the low wall that separated the nursery garden from the rest of the garden and said, still hardly able to believe it, ‘The Jennings family are taking in a German-Jewish refugee. She’s the granddaughter of an old friend of Carrie’s gran’s.’

  ‘Are they indeed?’ Carl leaned back on his heels and pushed his hat a little further back on his head. ‘That is just the kind of generous, compassionate thing they would do. Are Mrs Singer’s friend and daughter coming to England as well?’

  Kate’s waist-length braid had fallen forward over her shoulder and she flicked it back again, saying with surprise in her voice, ‘I never thought to ask. Carrie didn’t mention them and even if Mrs Singer’s friend and daughter were also coming to England, they couldn’t stay at Carrie’s. There would be no room for them.’ Her eyes met her father’s and widened as a momentous thought occurred to her. ‘They could stay here, though, couldn’t they? They could stay with us!’

  Her father stood up, dusting soil from the knees of his ancient corduroy trousers. ‘They could most certainly stay with us,’ he said slowly, ‘if your mother were still alive she would certainly offer to give them a home. And even if Mrs Singer’s friend and daughter are not in need of a home, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t contact the Home Office and make it known that we’re willing to give a home to a German-Jewish refugee family. That at least we can do.’

  They were both silent for a few minutes, Kate thinking of the mother she could scarcely remember and Carl remembering in deep pain a much loved, much missed wife and friend.

  They had met when he had been a POW working on the land in Kent. The farmer he was assigned to regularly offered accommodation and wages to Londoners in the hop-picking season and Anne had been one of the many East Enders who journeyed into the Kentish countryside for two weeks of hard hop-picking, thinking of the change of scene and routine not as labour but as a holiday.

  She had been an only child and her parents had not been overly keen when they had discovered how things were between them. Carl smiled to himself at the memory. Anne had been uncaring of her parents’ disapproval and, when it became obvious to them that she wasn’t affecting love for a German POW merely to annoy them but was sincerely in love with him, they had adopted a practical live and let live attitude towards him and until their deaths, the year before Kate had been born, had been affectionate and supportive parents-in-law to him.

  His smile faded. Anne had died in the winter of 1919, when Kate was two years old, of pneumonia. Since then, apart from Kate, he had lived alone and he assumed now that he would always do so.

  Kate, mistaking the bleak expression in his eyes for pain at the horrors now taking place in his homeland, stood up and impulsively crossed the distance between them, putting her arms around him and hugging tight. He very rarely spoke of Germany and he was so very English in so many ways, in his love of gardening, in his captaining of the local cricket team, in his enjoyment of a drink at the local pub with his friends, that she found it hard to believe that Germany was his homeland.

  ‘I’m so glad you didn’t want to return to Germany after you married Mum,’ she said fervently, her head against the pullover she had knitted him for his birthday. ‘I keep forgetting it might have been something you wanted to do; that I could have been born in Germany and that we could easily be living there now.’

  He stroked the gleaming gold of her hair, saying tenderly, ‘Why should I have taken your mother away from the country she loved, to a country whose inhabitants would have been hostile towards her? My parents were dead, I had no other family, there was no real reason for me to return home and there was every reason to remain here.’

  Behind his spectacles his grey-blue eyes darkened. ‘As things have worked out, I’m deeply relieved that I did so. Though I fought in the war, I didn’t do so willingly. I’m a pacifist at heart and for many years now Germany has been no country for pacifists.’

  She looked up into his gentle face, loving him with all her heart. ‘And no country for Jews, either,’ she said quietly. ‘Let’s find out how we can give a home to at least one refugee family. You’ve been happy in England. Perhaps they will be too.’

  The next evening, in nervous anticipation of what Miss Helliwell might reveal to her, she strolled towards the bottom end of the Square with Carrie.

  They had only gone a dozen yards or so when Carrie said in exasperation, ‘Do you see what I see?’

  Kate’s heart sank. Ahead of them the tweed-suited figure of Miss Godfrey had just stepped out of St Mark’s Church and was beginning to walk briskly across the grass towards them.

  ‘We don’t have to get involved in a long conversation with her,’ she said firmly to Carrie. ‘We simply have to say that we have an appointment and that . . .’

  ‘Good evening, girls.’ Miss Godfrey came to a halt full-square in front of them, physically preventing them from continuing on their way. ‘I’ve just collected the fête raffle tickets. Would you like to buy one? The prize is a teddy bear. I did suggest to the vicar that a rose bowl would be more suitable but . . .’

  Resignedly, Kate and Carrie sought in their clutch bags for a suitable donation. As they did so, Daniel Collins bore down on them from the Heath half of the Square and Charlie Robson’s hulking figure ambled towards them from the Lewisham half of the Square.

  ‘Raffle tickets?’ Daniel beamed, fumbling in his boiler-suit pocket for loose change. ‘What’s the prize this year, Miss Godfrey? Not another perishin’ teddy bear I hope.’

  Charlie had also joined them. His criminal reputation was such that Miss Godfrey always tried to avoid him and she was so flurried at not having avoided him on this occasion that she fumbled in her attempts to tear off a raffle ticket for Daniel and dropped her handbag.

  Charlie, who would never have dreamt of thieving on his home turf, bent down to retrieve it for her. Miss Godfrey, certain that he was about to abscond with it, snatched it from his grasp before he even had time to proffer it.

  ‘’ere, steady on,’ Charlie
protested mildly, his reactions blunted slightly by the pint of mild he had just downed in The Swan. ‘I ’ain’t going to do a runner wiv it!’

  It was so obvious that this was exactly what Miss Godfrey had feared that even Daniel Collins looked disconcerted. As a diversionary tactic he thrust his copy of the evening paper into Charlie’s now empty hands. ‘I haven’t my reading glasses with me, Charlie. Can you tell me what the latest news is on the cricket? Are Derbyshire really in with a chance?’

  For some reason that Kate couldn’t fathom it was now Charlie who looked disconcerted. He fumbled to the sports pages and after a little hesitation uncertainly read out the latest scores.

  ‘And what does the sports commentator say about that?’ Daniel asked. ‘Does he reckon Derbyshire are going to win the county cricket championship?’ While he waited for an answer he said helpfully to Kate and Carrie and Miss Godfrey, ‘If they do, it’ll be their first time in sixty-two years!’

  Charlie scrutinized the paper for an inordinately long time and then said unhappily, ‘It don’t say.’

  ‘Course it’ll say! Have a look on the back page.’

  Charlie did so and after another long pause said again, ‘It don’t say, Daniel.’

  Daniel was just about to protest that there must be some comment on the back page when Miss Godfrey said slowly, ‘You can’t read, can you, Mr Robson?’

  Kate sucked in her breath sharply. Daniel Collins leapt immediately to his friend’s defence, saying scoffingly, ‘Course Charlie can read!’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Charlie said with profound dignity. ‘I don’t know why, but I’ve never bin able to get the ’ang of it.’

  It was Carrie who recovered from the shock first. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mr Robson,’ she said comfortingly. ‘I could never get the hang of arithmetic.’

  It was a blatant lie. Carrie could add up a string of figures in her head with awe-inspiring accuracy as both Kate and Miss Godfrey were well aware.

  ‘It don’t matter,’ Charlie said, aware that his revelation had caused a certain awkwardness. ‘I’m used to it and it don’t bother me.’

  Daniel gave a sigh of relief, happy to let the embarrassing subject drop, but Miss Godfrey said, an odd note in her voice, ‘But would you like to be able to read, Mr Robson?’

  Kate held her breath as Charlie gave Miss Godfrey’s question serious consideration. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘I reckon I would.’

  ‘But how can you?’ Daniel Collins asked practically. ‘I mean, when all’s said and done Charlie, if you didn’t manage to learn at school you’re not likely to learn now you’re the wrong side of fifty, are you? Even if you were, who in their right mind would teach you?’

  ‘I would,’ Miss Godfrey said succinctly, the light of battle in her eyes. ‘It’s a sin and a shame that anyone not mentally handicapped should be unable to read and it’s never too late to learn. I’m walking in the same direction as you, Mr Robson. Perhaps you’d like to walk with me as far as my gate and we can discuss times for lessons that will be convenient to us both.’

  Daniel Collins gave a choking sound. Kate’s jaw dropped open. Carrie gasped. Charlie blinked, bewildered by the speed of events and then, to his audience’s stupefaction, amicably assented to Miss Godfrey’s suggestion.

  ‘Blimey,’ Daniel Collins said in awed tones, as they walked away together. ‘If that don’t beat all!’

  ‘It was pretty fast work, wasn’t it?’ Carrie said, grudging admiration in her voice. ‘Do you think she fancies him?’

  ‘She’s sorry for him,’ Kate said, watching as the two incongruous figures, Charlie’s broad-shouldered and shambling, Miss Godfrey’s tall and angular, walked away from them. ‘To someone like Miss Godfrey, reading is the most important ability there is. If Charlie isn’t careful, she’s going to transform his life.’

  ‘Which is all right if he wants it transforming, but a bit of a bugger if he doesn’t,’ Daniel Collins said, making no apology for his language.

  Accustomed to the colourful language of the market, neither girl took offence.

  ‘We’ve got to be on our way, Mr Collins,’ Kate said, mindful that they hadn’t intended stopping to talk in the first place.

  ‘And so have I.’ Daniel tucked the newspaper that had caused all the kerfuffle once again under his arm. ‘Hettie will have my dinner ready and she don’t like to be kept waiting.’

  He went on his way, a happy and uncomplicated man, and Kate said mischievously, ‘He might one day be your father-in-law, Carrie. You could do a lot worse.’

  ‘I could do a sight better!’ Carrie said tartly. ‘And with a bit of luck Miss Helliwell is going to tell me so and give me some details into the bargain.’

  Without encountering any more of their neighbours, they carried on down to Miss Helliwell’s house and turned in at her gate. The garden beyond was turbulently overgrown. Though passionately fond of roses, Miss Helliwell did not believe in restraining them nor did she favour new-fangled, prim and neat, hybrid-tea varieties. Her roses were the roses of medieval France and Persia. Damask roses and moss roses grew jungle-thick in great head-high bushes of white and crimson; gallicas and albas rampaged up trees, their scent intoxicating.

  ‘Do you think she’ll ask us to come back another time?’ Carrie asked doubtfully as Faust appeared from beneath a thicket of sharply pink Empress Josephine and began to stalk them up the pathway.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not.’ Now she had finally decided on having her palm read, Kate wanted the deed done as soon as possible. There was something she wanted to ask Miss Helliwell; something of a very practical nature. Though she enjoyed her job, she didn’t particularly enjoy travelling to and from the City every day and a large local firm, Harvey’s Construction Ltd, was advertising for a junior secretary. It would be quite an advancement from being a mere typist in a typing pool and an added advantage would be that she could walk to work instead of having to suffer a claustrophobic journey by train twice a day. The prospect was exceedingly tempting and she had made her mind up that if Miss Helliwell judged such a move wise, it was a move she was going to make.

  ‘Well, well, this is a surprise,’ Miss Helliwell said, opening the door to them and looking even more diminutive in her slippers than she did in outdoor shoes. ‘Are you selling raffle tickets for the fête? I shall buy one of course but I do wish the Vicar would offer something a little more tempting as a prize than a teddy bear . . .’

  ‘We’re not selling raffle tickets,’ Kate said, the breath tight in her chest. ‘We’ve come to have our palms read.’

  ‘Have you?’ Miss Helliwell said, always happy to combine a little companionship with business. ‘Then you’d better come inside.’ She began to lead the way down a narrow hallway congested with piles of books and aspidistras. ‘It takes quite a time, you know. I tried to explain that to dear Mr Collins when he came to me in the hope that I could tell him which horse would win the Derby.’

  ‘And did you?’ Kate asked curiously as Miss Helliwell led the way into a sitting-room crammed with yet more foliage.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Miss Helliwell said, mindful of dear Mr Collins’s rather heavy losses on Derby day. ‘I told him to back a Moslem and he thought I said muslin and put all his money on Summer Gauze. As it was, the Aga Khan’s filly Mahmoud won by a head and Summer Gauze trailed in so far behind Mr Collins swore she wasn’t in the same race.’

  She seated herself at a large circular table covered in fringed, rust-coloured moquette. ‘Now,’ she said in happy anticipation, ‘which of you is going to have their palm read first?’

  ‘Kate will,’ Carrie said quickly.

  Shooting Carrie a look that indicated Carrie was going to have some apologizing to do when they left the house, Kate sat nervously down at the table opposite Miss Helliwell.

  ‘Now dear, let me have a look at your hands,’ Miss Helliwell instructed, adding, ‘and if Caroline would like to go and have a chat with my sister, I’m sure Esther would appreci
ate it. She’s in the conservatory and she does so like visitors.’

  Aware that she was discreetly being asked to leave the room, Carrie disappointedly turned her back on them and went in search of the wheelchair-bound Esther.

  ‘Now dear,’ Miss Helliwell said again as the door closed, leaving them in privacy. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’

  She took Kate’s hands in hers, examining them closely. ‘Very nice,’ she said at last. ‘Very nice indeed. You have the long-fingered, well-shaped hand of a typical Water personality. Water hands are sometimes called sensitive hands because they indicate great sensitivity and emotional warmth.’

  Kate felt some of her tension ease. If Miss Helliwell was going to say nice things about her there was no need for her to be apprehensive.

  Miss Helliwell took hold of her right hand and cupped it, staring down intently into the palm. For a long moment she didn’t speak and when she did her voice was oddly strained. ‘Well, well,’ she said, stalling for time in order to get over the shock she had just received. ‘How very . . . unexpected.’

  All Kate’s apprehensions flooded back in full force. ‘What is?’ she demanded. ‘What’s wrong? Is it my life-line . . .’

  ‘Oh no dear,’ Miss Helliwell said swiftly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your life-line. Your life-line is so long it reaches your wrist! You’re going to make old bones, dear. Very old bones.’

  ‘Then what is it? What can you see that you didn’t expect to see?’

  Miss Helliwell squinted with renewed concentration at Kate’s palm. ‘It’s rather difficult to explain, dear,’ she said at last, choosing her words with care. ‘There is great happiness in your future. Very great happiness. It is, however, a happiness that comes only after heartache. You have an enviable capacity for love, and love is going to be central to your life, but where love is concerned you’re going to have some very hard choices and decisions to make.’