Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  ‘I’ve just seen Stephen Hemming,’ he called, trying to stay calm, trying to sound casual, that it was of no consequence. ‘What was he doing here?

  ‘Stephen?’ she commented as if it was news to her.

  ‘Yes, Stephen. I saw him leave here a few minutes ago. His car was parked in Arthur Road. Why was he here?’

  He heard Eleanor padding down the stairs and he lit a cigarette.

  She appeared at the kitchen door looking apprehensive. The pleasant fragrance of her toilet soap was like an aura around her.

  ‘Yes, Stephen was here,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m helping him with his new business.’

  Brent exhaled smoke in a great gust and took another slug of brandy. ‘Helping him do what?’

  ‘Helping him get organised. He’s got no idea of office routines, accounting – that sort of thing.’

  ‘So how are you helping him, Eleanor? You know as much about office routines and accounting as I know about the inside of Hitler’s trouser legs. What’s going on?’

  ‘What could be going on?’ she asked, her sham resentment purporting innocence.

  ‘I dread to think.’

  ‘With Stephen? You can’t seriously suggest —. Nothing’s going on, Brent, for God’s sake. Jesus Christ, why do you think anything’s going on?’

  ‘Because I know you.’

  ‘Are you accusing me of something, Brent Shackleton? If so, you’d better be careful. You’d better be very careful.’

  ‘Then why are you in possession of his engagement ring? The ring he gave to Maxine Kite?’

  Eleanor gasped with trepidation. ‘That was not an engagement ring, Brent,’ she answered, affecting to appear unfazed. ‘Stephen would never have got engaged to her.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Brent slurped his coffee. ‘That’s not what she said. So why have you got it?’

  ‘It’s a sample…a sample of his work…It’s a brilliant design and he’s a brilliant designer. I’m going to do some canvassing for him…in the Jewellery Quarter. Then he wants to sell it to raise some capital.’

  He studied her keenly as she answered, looking for evidence of lies. But her explanation was plausible.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me, Eleanor? Why didn’t you let me know you were trying to help him?’

  ‘Because you would have got the wrong idea – like you did. I didn’t want a row…again.’

  ‘Well next time he comes, tell him he needn’t park his car round the corner where he thinks I won’t see it. Next time he comes tell him, if he’s got nothing to hide, not to be so damned sneaky…’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Lord knows why you couldn’t have this child baptised at St John’s on Kates Hill, our Henzey,’ Lizzie remarked. ‘It’d have saved May and Joe their tram fares and no mistake.’

  They were standing in the warm evening sunshine outside St John’s church in Ladywood, awaiting the rest of the family for Aldo’s christening. A peal of bells, contrasting resonantly with the family’s muted chatter and laughter, melded occasionally with the whine and clatter of a tram in an abstract symphony. Already inside were Will’s sister-in-law Eunice in her wheelchair and his brother, Neville, who was to join Herbert as godfather and Maxine as godmother.

  Henzey chuckled generously at her mother’s flippant comment. ‘It’s time Jesse bought a car, I should say. Then you could have brought May and Joe with you. Why don’t you get him to buy a car, Mom?’

  ‘Why would I need a car?’ Jesse chipped in. ‘A van, maybe, for the business, but not a car.’

  ‘But then you’d have no need to worry about trams. Fancy having to rely on trams at your time of life, Mother.’

  ‘You talk as if I’m on my last legs, young lady. I’ll have you know I’ve never felt better.’

  ‘And you look wonderful. Nobody would guess you’re forty-six.’

  ‘I would have said thirty-five,’ Will said, gleefully buttering up his mother-in-law. ‘You look no more than thirty-five at most, Lizzie.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a charmer and no two ways, Will.’

  ‘It’s true. If I didn’t know, I’d say you were about the same age as myself.’

  ‘Shall I hold the baby for a bit, our Henzey?’ Lizzie suggested. ‘I bet your arms could do with a rest.’

  Henzey handed over the baby. ‘Thanks, Mom. He is getting a weight.’

  Will watched a tram turn from Icknield Port Road into Monument Road. It stopped outside the church and family members alighted, all in their Sunday best.

  ‘I think maybe we should go inside and take our seats,’ he suggested. ‘The others are here now, look.’

  Together, they tiptoed up the centre aisle. Soft, mellow music drifted over from the organ as Maxine, Will, and Henzey, holding the baby again, filed into a pew. Behind them sat the others, including Will’s family. The church was well attended most Sunday evenings but, since it was the beginning of the holidays and many people were due to have gone away, a smaller congregation was expected tonight. Promptly, at half past six, the door to the nave opened and the choir and clergyman emerged in procession, headed by a chorister carrying a cross.

  Maxine looked a picture in her wide-brimmed straw hat and new summer dress with a floral print. She did not heed the procession as she stood up, conscientiously trying to find the first hymn in her hymnbook. The choir shuffled into their stalls and the clergyman took his place behind them on the decanal side.

  Maxine turned to Henzey. ‘You’re not going to change your mind about calling him Aldo?’ she whispered good-humouredly.

  Henzey shook her head and smiled serenely.

  ‘We shall sing hymn number three hundred and sixty two,’ the preacher intoned, his voice ringing clearly through the beautiful 19th century church.

  Maxine thought the preacher’s voice, his warm, rounded accent, sounded familiar. Curious, she glanced towards him and at once her heart started thumping good and hard. She focused her eyes on him then turned in disbelief to Henzey who was oblivious to her incredulity. She looked again at this man whose voice she was certain she recognised, peering at him intently. There was absolutely nothing the matter with her eyesight; she could not be mistaken.

  It was him, as large as life and just as lovely.

  She could never mistake Howard Quaintance.

  In his dog-collar, his cassock and surplice, he looked so different to how she remembered him, and far too boyish to be wearing such vestments. Her mind raced back to that May night when she first met him. He looked and acted like no preacher then, drinking his pint of beer in the jazz club like any other young man. Except that, unlike any other young man, he had succeeded in igniting something within her that only lately was she beginning to understand. But he was a clergyman…Or, maybe he was just a lay preacher. Yes, a lay preacher. That must be it.

  Maxine could not remember singing the first hymn, although she joined in with the congregation. She could not recall the psalms either, nor the prayers while her eyes were transfixed on the young man who was leading the service so adeptly. It was only after the second lesson that she started to come to terms with the situation, when the ministration of baptism was about to take place. The family, and Howard Quaintance, assembled at the beautifully ornate font.

  ‘Hath this child been already baptised?’ He looked from one to the other of the godparents, and was visibly shaken when he saw, and immediately recognised, Maxine Kite, holding the child in her arms.

  They all, except Maxine, answered, ‘No’.

  She was still too dumbfounded to utter any response. His eyes were hypnotic upon her and she coloured up with excitement. He hesitated, stumbling on his words. Reluctantly, his eyes left hers as he searched for his place in his prayer book.

  ‘Er… Dearly beloved…ahem!… Forasmuch as all men are conceived and born in sin…’ Occasionally, as he recited the ritual, his eyes left his prayer book to seek Maxine. ‘I demand therefore…Dost thou, in the name of this Child, renounce the devil and all his works, the va
in pomp and glory of the world, with all the covetous desires of the same, and the carnal desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow, nor be led by them?’

  They were supposed to answer ‘I renounce them all.’ Maxine’s eyes met Howard’s again and, obviously possessed of the devil, she privately made no effort to renounce her own covetous desires. Deep, deep inside, she wished that Howard could interpret her silence in the way she wished it to be interpreted, and hoped the Lord would forgive her this one sin. How could she renounce these carnal desires of the flesh, neither follow nor be led by them, when she was already being led so strongly by the very presence of Howard Quaintance? How could she renounce these carnal desires, her heart thumping mercilessly inside her chest, banging against the baby who was sleeping peacefully in her arms, when she did not yet know what the full implications were? Surely these sensations could not be so wicked when, all at once, desire felt so suddenly alive and so exhilarating within her.

  ‘Dost thou believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth? And in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son our Lord?…’

  Maxine watched Howard’s lips as he tried to concentrate on what he was doing. She hoped he felt as excited as herself, but he was conducting himself with admirable poise. He still kept raising his eyes to catch hers and once she was certain he flashed her a secret smile. Next time he looked at her, she would smile back.

  ‘Wilt thou be baptised in this faith?’ he asked the godparents.

  Maxine dispatched a dazzling smile. ‘That is my desire.’

  ‘Wi— Er…ahem!…excuse me…Wilt thou then obediently keep God’s holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all the days of thy life?’

  ‘I will.’ With you, Howard, I think I would.

  ‘…Regard, we beseech thee, the supplications of thy congregation; sanctify this water to the mystical washing away of sin; and grant that this child, now to be baptised herein, may receive the fullness of thy grace, and ever remain in the number of thy faithful and elect children; through Jesus Christ our Lord.’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘Name this child.’

  ‘Aldo William Neville,’ Maxine said with emphasis, trembling as she handed the baby over to Howard Quaintance.

  ‘Aldo?’ the clergyman evidently wished to verify, to Maxine’s amusement.

  ‘Aldo William Neville.’ Their eyes lingered a second more than they need have done.

  ‘Aldo William Neville, I baptise thee In the Name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen…’

  When Howard handed the child back to Maxine their hands touched and they lingered too, and the chemistry between these two was unmistakable. She felt her heart pound the more at his closeness. She thought she was going to faint. But she must not. She was holding the child. She took a deep breath and tried to gather herself together, garner her thoughts. But this was a heady moment, and her mind was awhirl with happiness and the intoxicating realisation that she might indeed be capable of love and even healthy, hard desire, after all her cold fish self-doubt. So she held on, stoically remaining upright and, at the end of the ministration, walked back to the pew, her legs weak and shaking. Henzey asked if she was all right.

  ‘Do you remember me telling you about a man I met at the jazz club?’ she whispered, almost breathlessly. ‘Howard Quaintance?’

  Henzey’s eyes opened wide. ‘Vaguely,’ she answered. ‘The one who swapped your ring over to your right hand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me that’s him? The vicar?’

  Maxine nodded dreamily. ‘Isn’t he lovely?’

  Henzey smiled knowingly and sat down next to Maxine. She took from Maxine the placid Aldo who slept on, having hardly stirred when Howard Quaintance intrusively doused his forehead with cold water and mopped it dry.

  Maxine remained in a trance, a reverie enhanced by the choir’s rendering of Sir Charles Villiers Stanford’s anthem ‘Ye Choirs of New Jerusalem’. Normally, she would have relished the sound of serious music performed by serious performers, music with which she was not familiar, but to her, this evening, it was just a pleasant background to some pleasant thoughts.

  Howard Quaintance preached a brief sermon and in no time, it seemed, the service was over. When the congregation filed out through the main door, each member shook hands with the visiting clergyman who knew none of these parishioners, but they thanked him nonetheless for standing in at short notice.

  Will was the first of their party to express his thanks for the way the christening had been executed. He shook Howard’s hand and said how ably he had conducted the service in Canon Gittins’s absence.

  ‘I do hope he will recover soon,’ Howard said.

  Henzey, too, shook the hand of Howard Quaintance. ‘I believe you’ve already met my sister,’ she remarked mischievously, to Maxine’s surprise.

  ‘If you mean Maxine, then indeed, I have. Under rather different circumstances.’ His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles and Henzey understood why Maxine was so attracted to him. He turned next to Maxine and, though he shook her hand formally, she thrilled to the warmth in his eyes that told so much.

  ‘You know, Reverend,’ Henzey said experimentally, ‘we’re having a small family gathering at home to celebrate Aldo’s christening. If you have no other plans for tonight, you’re very welcome to join us.’

  Howard grinned like an overgrown schoolboy. ‘That, I would welcome with all my heart. Thank you. But you’ll have to give me directions how to get there.’

  ‘Oh, we can wait for you. I imagine we can find a space for you in one of the cars.’

  ‘Well, actually, I, er…have my own car. I could follow you.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Henzey, seizing the opportunity, ‘why not let Maxine travel with you? She could show you the way.’

  Howard looked delighted. ‘That sounds a very practical arrangement.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll get her to wait outside for you while I go on with my husband and the rest of the family to prepare things.’

  Maxine nodded biddably, more than content to go along with this surprising development.

  ‘That’s great,’ agreed Howard. ‘I’ll only be five minutes. If Maxine could wait for me outside…I must express my thanks to the rest of the congregation.’

  ‘So we’ll see you later,’ Henzey added.

  When they were outside in the warm evening air, Henzey turned to Maxine. ‘You didn’t mind me playing Cupid, did you?’

  Maxine smiled coyly. ‘No, course not. I just don’t know how you’ve got the nerve, our Henzey.’

  ‘It’s not a question of nerve. You could hardly ask him, and he could hardly ask you with all the parishioners looking and listening, however much he might have wanted to. Anyway, it’s polite to ask the vicar to a do after a church ceremony, isn’t it, Mother?’

  ‘Only right and proper,’ Lizzie concurred. ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  Henzey grinned and nestled the baby comfortably in her arms. ‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’

  Maxine tilted her lovely face towards the reddening sun while she waited for Howard and felt its summer warmth. She pondered her own nervousness that was increasing inexorably at the prospect of being alone with Howard so unexpectedly. Fancy him being a clergyman! No wonder he didn’t want to tell her what he did for a living when they first met. And fancy him being here this evening to conduct the christening. It had to be fate. It just had to be.

  A tram rumbled past, breaking her idyll, clanking and scraping as it slowed down to turn into Icknield Port Road. The last of the congregation bid her good evening as they headed for home in their precisely pressed, Sunday best outfits and she happily returned the greeting.

  Howard took no longer than the five minutes he’d promised. She saw him exit the vestry and scan the street for her. He waved and hurried towards her, his vestments over his arm like a mackintosh.

  ‘Maxine! I really can’t believe it’s you,’ h
e said brightly.

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘You look absolutely smashing. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m well, thank you, Howard. It was such a surprise to see you. You can’t imagine. Everybody was expecting Canon Gittins. Is he ill or something?’

  ‘Taken with appendicitis last night, apparently. And, true to form, the resident curate is away on holiday. So they asked me to step in…Lucky, that, I should say…My car’s over here…Where are we going?’

  ‘Dudley.’

  They reached his car. He first placed his vestments carefully on the rear seat, then let her in.

  ‘It’s jolly decent of your sister to invite me back,’ he said as she made herself comfortable. ‘I really appreciate it. So what’s been happening in your life? Are you still going to that jazz club with Brent Shackleton?’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ she replied ambiguously, and was pleased to note the disappointment in his eyes. ‘I play in his band now.’

  ‘The cello? You’re joking.’

  ‘Fancy you remembering I play cello,’ she said, beaming at him.

  ‘I remember everything about you.’

  ‘Well, I play piano in the band – and sing as well. I took over from your chum.’

  He started the car. ‘Oh, Randolf. Yes, he told me he’d left the jazz band. I was beginning to wonder why I failed to get invitations to go with him anymore, so I took the liberty of asking him. So you took his place? Fancy that…Hell, I can’t imagine you in a jazz band, Maxine. Hardly seems a sufficiently ladylike occupation for a girl like you.’

  ‘Well, it’s not an out and out stomp band like it was before. It’s changing. We play more American swing nowadays, more blues. More sophisticated. Less of the old traditional, stomping stuff. Even Ginger Tolley, you remember, the banjo player? He plays mostly guitar these days.’

  ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’

  ‘We’ve changed the name of the band as well. It’s no longer the Second City Hot Six. It’s The Owls and the Pussycats.’

  ‘Hey, that’s a smashing name. And you’re the Pussy Cat, I take it.’