A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  Bel put down her handbag and gas mask and turned her back to Eddy, forcing him to help her out of her damp woollen coat. She had seen the rich women do the same when she’d been at the Grand. Eddy obliged. He had no choice. They were the guests. He the servant.

  Free of her coat, Helen saw that Bel was also wearing the black dress she’d had on yesterday. She looked stunning. Regal almost.

  Pearl looked at her daughter and felt a swell of pride.

  Miriam a surge of pure envy.

  There were now two beautiful young women in the room – one a dead ringer for Betty Grable, the other a Vivien Leigh lookalike.

  ‘Well, well, well, who do we have here?’ Mr Havelock’s voice boomed from the far end of the long dining-room table. He had been taking in every detail of his two impromptu guests. At last some excitement on this dreary, uneventful Christmas Day spent with a daughter who was a lush and a granddaughter who was barely able to disguise her dislike of him.

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t stand to greet you,’ he said, glancing down at his legs, ‘but I’m not quite as mobile as I used to be.’

  Bel knew this to be a lie. His legs had moved perfectly well at all the launches she’d seen him at.

  His eyes narrowed as he studied mother and daughter.

  For a moment, Pearl was snapped back into the past, standing with all the other servants, part of Henrietta’s ‘cavalry’, being inspected by the master as though they were cattle.

  ‘I think you know who your guests are, Grandfather,’ Helen butted in, stepping forward so that her hands were resting on the back of a dining chair. ‘This is Mrs Isabelle Elliot, whom you have met a few times at various launches.’ She then turned her attention to Pearl. ‘And this is her mother, Miss Pearl Hardwick.’

  Bel returned Mr Havelock’s penetrating stare. A smile was playing on his thin lips. She saw for the first time a glimpse of the cruelty he thrived on.

  Did he know?

  No, he couldn’t.

  Could he?

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Mr Havelock said, reaching for his cigar, which was lying on the side of a large cut-crystal ashtray. ‘Like my legs, the old memory isn’t quite what it was.’

  Another lie. Did anything truthful ever come out of the man’s mouth?

  Bel caught Miriam snickering as she walked over to her seat at the table and sat down.

  ‘Would our guests like a drink?’ Mr Havelock asked, the epitome of geniality.

  Eddy looked at the pretty blonde and then at her washed-out-looking mother. He knew her. He was sure of it.

  ‘No, thank you, Eddy,’ Bel said.

  Eddy thought her tone was familiar – as though she knew him, or at least knew of him.

  ‘Ma, would you like anything to drink? I’m sure Eddy here will be pleased to oblige, or perhaps Agatha can make you a hot drink?’

  Eddy looked at Bel. She does. She knows me and she knows Agatha too.

  And then it clicked. The young woman who’d quizzed them about one of the maids. He looked at Pearl. This worn-out wreck of a woman was Henrietta’s Little Match Girl.

  Pearl looked at Eddy and saw the recognition in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll have another G and T, Eddy,’ Miriam chirped up. ‘Looks like I’m staying a little longer. The day’s suddenly got interesting.’

  Bel glanced at Miriam and then at the huge Christmas tree in the corner and she felt the cohorts of anger marching forward.

  ‘As I’m sure you’re aware,’ Bel said, looking from Miriam to Mr Havelock, ‘this isn’t a social call.’

  She picked up her handbag from the floor and placed it on the table.

  ‘I’ve come here to tell you …’ Bel looked her father in the eye.

  Just then Eddy came back with Miriam’s gin and tonic balanced on a silver tray. He placed it in front of the woman he’d known since she was a child. Not that this endeared her to him any more.

  ‘That’ll be all, Eddy.’ Mr Havelock gave him his orders.

  Eddy did as he was told. Walking out of the room with the tray under his arm, he left the door ajar just enough so that he and Agatha could eavesdrop.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Elliot,’ Mr Havelock said, the sneering smile back again. ‘What was it you were about to say?’

  Bel took a breath, but again was interrupted.

  ‘Sorry, my dear,’ he said, ‘I’ve a terrible habit of interrupting people. My granddaughter’s always reprimanding me for it, aren’t you?’

  He narrowed his eyes at Helen, who was still standing, her manicured red nails gripping the top of the chair. The look he gave her was wholly without mirth.

  ‘You do, Grandfather,’ she said, returning the look.

  A smile slid across Mr Havelock’s face. ‘I also like to guess what people are going to say –’ he looked back at Bel ‘– and I would bet my net worth, which is substantial, that you are going to inform me that I am your father.’ She’d always reminded him of someone, from first seeing her at the old diver’s funeral, but it was only recently that he’d realised the person she reminded him of was himself.

  Bel glowered back at him. Damn it! This was meant to be her surprise. Her Christmas present. She felt the anger breaking through the surface.

  ‘Well,’ Bel said, trying to keep her voice steady, ‘if you were a betting man you would keep your net worth, Mr Havelock, for I am your daughter – much as it pains me greatly to have to admit it.’

  Mr Havelock let out a bitter laugh.

  ‘Well, it would seem you have the Havelocks’ acid tongue. Either that or you have been spending too much time with my darling granddaughter.’

  He again turned his attention to Helen, who, in turn, threw Bel a concerned look.

  ‘Oh, dear me. Not again,’ Miriam butted in, faking a yawn. ‘Not another impostor trying to bleed us dry of our hard-earned cash.’

  Mr Havelock looked at his daughter, who was now beginning to slur her words; she had never done a day’s work, never mind a hard day’s work, in her life.

  Bel dug inside her handbag and pulled out the two-page report that Helen had given her in the hallway of the Tatham after Artie’s christening.

  ‘I have here evidence that proves I’m not an impostor.’ She threw Miriam a scathing look. Was the woman blind? Apart from the age gap, they looked identical. Same nose, lips, complexion and hair.

  ‘Apart from the fact that we look so alike …’ Bel spoke directly to Mr Havelock ‘… I have in my possession a report that I believe would likely stand up in a court of law as evidence that you did father me. Coupled with the result of a blood test to show blood type, I think you might find that it would be ruled that I am not some charlatan, but, as I’ve said once before, unfortunately your daughter.’ Bel could feel her body start to tremble. A combination of nerves and anger.

  She walked over to the man who had sired her and spread the two sheets of evidence in front of him.

  ‘And,’ she hissed, ‘I will make it perfectly plain that my mother was in no way a willing participant in my conception. I will tell the judge and jury and anyone else who will listen that you are a rapist. A sick and perverted old man who likes nothing more than violating young girls – and when I say “young”, I mean young.’ Bel swung her head to look at her mother, who was now sitting in a chair that was positioned across from Miriam.

  ‘How old were you again, Ma?’ Bel didn’t wait for an answer. Her poor mother looked as white as the snow falling outside.

  ‘Fifteen years old,’ Bel said.

  She looked at Miriam and then back at Mr Havelock.

  ‘And if my knowledge of the law serves me right, the age of consent in our country is sixteen.’ Her visit to the library had been well worth it.

  Mr Havelock looked at the woman he knew was his. How dare she speak to him like this? His eyes blazed with pure fury. For a moment Bel thought he would strike her. She fought the impulse to take a step back.

  ‘Get out! Get out!’ Miriam demanded. ‘How dare you
and your slut of a mother come in here, spouting such poison.’

  Bel saw her ma start to get out of her chair; knew she wanted nothing more than to rip this vile woman to shreds. She threw her a warning look and Pearl forced herself to remain seated.

  ‘Eddy!’ Mr Havelock looked over everyone’s heads at the partially closed door, behind which he knew his manservant and housekeeper would be listening to every word.

  In a beat, Eddy reappeared. He still had the silver tray under his arm.

  ‘Be a good chap and go into my office and bring me my chequebook.’ Mr Havelock was desperately trying to claw back his couldn’t-care-less demeanour, but the little bitch had rankled him.

  Eddy nodded, his face deathly serious. He turned and left the room.

  Suddenly, Agatha arrived in his place. ‘Excuse me, sir, do you want me to call the police?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Agatha.’ Helen turned around to look at the housekeeper. ‘Do you see any need to call the police? Is anyone being attacked or hurt in any way?’

  Everyone looked at Mr Havelock’s granddaughter. She had just shown whose side she was on. There wasn’t a person in the room who wasn’t taken aback. Mr Havelock, Miriam, Eddy and Agatha had never thought that Helen would go against her own flesh and blood.

  Neither had Pearl. Bel was the least surprised. She threw Helen a look that spoke her gratitude. Agatha straightened her back and pursed her lips but remained standing where she was. Eddy hurried back in with the chequebook and pen and walked the length of the table to where the master was sitting.

  Bel looked at Eddy and then turned to stare at Agatha. ‘You two,’ she said, her voice strong, ‘you knew what was going on, but you turned a blind eye. You did nothing.’

  Agatha stuck her nose up in the air. Eddy inspected his shiny black butler’s shoes.

  Mr Havelock seemed indifferent to Bel’s words.

  ‘Right,’ he said, pulling the top off his pen. He was now all business. ‘How much do you want?’ He looked up at Bel but ignored Pearl, whose eyes he felt upon him for the first time. ‘I will also, of course, have to get you to sign a legal disclaimer.’

  It was now obvious to them all that this was not the first time someone had come knocking at Mr Havelock’s door, accusing him of paternity, and been sent packing with a pay-off.

  ‘Oh, Mr Havelock,’ Bel said, bitterness and vitriol dripping from her voice, ‘I don’t want your money. Far, far from it.’

  Mr Havelock cocked his head and appraised Bel.

  ‘So, what do you want, Mrs Elliot?’

  Bel took a step back. She needed to get a little distance between herself and this monster whose blood she shared.

  ‘I thought you liked to guess what people are just about to say?’ Bel forced herself to look at her father. It sickened her to see just how similar they looked.

  Only then did it hit her – like a bolt from the blue – and she realised why her ma had struggled to love her.

  She had been a constant reminder of the man who had raped her and ruined her life.

  Bel made herself concentrate. All of a sudden, she just wanted this done. She wanted to leave this place and never come back. Just like her ma had done all those years ago.

  ‘Justice,’ Bel spat out. ‘What I really want is justice.’

  She looked at Helen, whose attention was flicking between Bel and Mr Havelock.

  ‘I want justice for what you did to my ma – and God knows how many other young girls. I’d like you strung up. I want the whole world to know exactly what you are.’

  Bel glanced at Miriam, who now looked a little lost. Or was that the effect of the gin?

  ‘But,’ she added, ‘I’m not stupid enough to think that what I want is possible.’

  ‘This is getting interesting,’ Mr Havelock said, closing his chequebook and putting down his pen.

  Bel clenched her fists.

  He smiled. ‘Please, do carry on.’

  Bel took a deep breath. She glanced at Miriam again. This concerned her, after all.

  ‘In exchange for my silence, I want Jack to be able to return home. To be with the woman he loves, but more than anything to be a father to his little girl, Hope.’

  There, she had said it. Now she really did just want to get this done and go.

  ‘You cannot be serious!’ Miriam banged her glass down on the table, her mouth taut. ‘My husband,’ she spat the words out, ‘is not going anywhere, my dear. He’s staying exactly where he is – over the border and as far away from this place as possible.’ She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. How had the spotlight suddenly turned on her? ‘He’s certainly not going to set up home back here with his mistress and his bastard.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bel saw Helen turn and glare at Miriam. She could tell this was the second skinning alive Miriam had just dodged. Her luck was going to run out if she wasn’t careful.

  Helen looked at Bel and her respect for her grew tenfold. She had always liked her as a person and as a friend, but what she had just done had taken her aback.

  Bel could have taken her grandfather to court – she mightn’t have won, but she would have had the satisfaction of seeing his name dragged through the mire and being tarnished for ever, and there was always the threat that more of her grandfather’s victims might come out of the woodwork. But instead, Bel had sacrificed her burning need for vengeance to help Hope – to give a little girl her daddy back.

  It was exactly what Helen had wanted to do with the report – she had said as much to John all those months ago. If she had done it, though, it would have been for personal gain. Hope was her sister, and bringing Jack home would give Helen her father back too. But Bel wasn’t getting anything out of this. It was incredibly unselfish. True kindness.

  Helen quickly turned to leave but bumped into Eddy and Agatha, who hadn’t had a chance to move out of the way.

  ‘If I were you two, I’d start packing my bags. You’re both named in that report,’ she hissed, before slipping out of the room and walking across the hallway and into her grandfather’s office.

  Shutting the door, she hurried over to his desk and picked up the receiver of his shiny black Bakelite phone.

  ‘Well, that’s a very honourable ask,’ Mr Havelock said to Bel. ‘A very apt sentiment for this time of year.’

  He took a sip of his whisky. He was back in control and loving it. It was time for him to play his trump card, now that he’d seen his opponent’s hand.

  ‘Relinquishing your need for revenge – and a substantial amount of money, I have to add – for the happiness of my son-in-law’s illegitimate daughter.’

  He gave a sickly smile.

  ‘But it’s not really about the child called Hope, is it? This is about you. You see yourself in Hope. A young girl with no father to speak of.’

  He lit his cigar and puffed.

  ‘It must have been hard, growing up a bastard. Children can be so cruel, can’t they?’

  For the first time he looked at Pearl.

  ‘Unless your mother here spun some yarn about your father being a war hero. I do believe that was quite a common story from the mouths of young mothers back then who found themselves in the family way with no man about the house.’

  ‘She would never have given you that honour,’ Bel spat back. ‘She told me you were dead. And how I wish to God that had really been the case. Hopefully, I’ll get my wish one day soon.’

  Mr Havelock laughed.

  ‘Oh, sorry to disappoint, my dear, but the Havelocks are known for their longevity. I certainly don’t intend to shuffle off this mortal coil any time soon.’

  He sighed.

  ‘Well, much as I would love to sit here and banter –’ he looked up at the clock ‘– time is getting on, so I’ll keep it brief and to the point. You, my dear,’ he said to Bel as though she were a schoolchild, ‘will leave here with no more and no less than what you arrived with, because, you see, I have been doing my own research, just as you did.�
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  He pushed the two sheets of paper away from him as Helen came back into the room.

  ‘And as a result, I know all about you, your crippled husband, the daughter you had with your first husband – and I know all about the woman who’s been like a second mother to you. And, of course, I know all about your ma.’ He looked at Pearl.

  Every word he spoke felt like a threat.

  ‘And so it will come as no surprise that I know you also have another half-sister, another bastard – and coloured at that, although I have to say, a very beautiful, very exotic-looking woman – who calls herself Maisie Smith.’ He raised his eyebrows to show his scepticism. ‘I know that Maisie was formally adopted as a baby and that she has led a very unconventional life.’

  Bel was feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

  ‘Unconventional and – many would say – immoral.’ He looked around the room. He was enjoying the attention. ‘I do hope I’m not telling you anything you don’t know?’ he asked with false sincerity. He looked at Bel.

  Her heart sank. If he knew what she thought he knew, then he had the upper hand.

  ‘You see, I found out – much to my surprise and quite by mistake, I have to add – that Maisie not only runs the Ashbrooke Gentlemen’s Club, which is apparently so popular it can deny membership to my good self, she also works next door. And that might look from the outside to be a normal residential home – albeit a very grandiose one – but it is in point of fact an upmarket whorehouse … a house of ill repute … a bordello, brothel, call it what you may.’ He paused, enjoying the look of defeat on Bel’s face.

  ‘So, you see –’ he made a point of looking at his watch as though he was late for another appointment ‘– if you say or do anything which in any way threatens me or my family, I will take what I know to the authorities, who I’m sure will be round there at the speed of light. And it wouldn’t be because they want what’s on offer, tempting though that might be.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘And obviously it goes without saying that all of the secrets of the women who work at Thompson’s will be unveiled to the outside world.’

  He paused.

  ‘And that I will, of course, also take great pleasure in finding ways of ruining not only your life, Mrs Isabelle Elliot, but also the lives of all those you hold dear.’