‘She’s staying in the flat over the shop.’
‘Okay. You’d better ask her to come and see me on Monday morning at my surgery—say ten-thirty. You think she can manage that?’
‘She’ll be there.’
As he took down notes of her name and age I could tell by his manner that he was more than a little taken aback by the whole thing. It was if, having known me always as a quiet family man, he was suddenly seeing a different side to my character. I couldn’t wonder at his surprise, though; here I had just said that I’d got some girl pregnant in a casual liaison and, into the bargain, had allowed myself to get lumbered with the situation. And there must have been something in my manner that gave him the impression that I wasn’t coping very well with the demands on me, for after studying me keenly for a moment he said:
‘Is there anything you want to talk about? If I can help in any other way, let me know . . .’
I thanked him again. He’d done enough already, I said.
His mouth moved in the suggestion of a smile. ‘Whatever you say,’ he answered. ‘I don’t want to pry into your business.’
* * *
When I got home I told Em that I’d made an appointment for Catherine to see Halton on Monday morning. Em said she’d take her, then she went on to ask:
‘What are you going to do about the flat? Ilona’s coming back soon—and you’ve promised it to her.’
I shrugged and gave a sigh. ‘Well, I’ll just have to write and tell her it’s no longer available.’
I wrote to Ilona that evening, hoping that she’d get the letter before she left Spain—whenever that might be. I didn’t go into any detail; I simply told her that a friend had arrived unexpectedly and now the flat wouldn’t be available till she left, which would be sometime towards the end of May. I posted the letter that same night.
The next morning when I went to the flat I found Catherine looking rested and much more calm and relaxed. As we drank coffee she wrote out a list of the various things she wanted from her flat, noting beside each item its likely whereabouts. I’d go there in the afternoon, I said, providing her neighbour was around to let me in.
Downstairs in the office at the back of the shop Catherine got the neighbour’s telephone number and then, one hand on the receiver, asked me:
‘What shall I tell her? I don’t want to say where I am—or who you are . . .’
‘—In case Mrs. Weldon’s crowd should go there and start asking questions . . . ?’
‘Yes.’
In the end we agreed on a likely story and this she gave when eventually she made the call. She was staying in Bristol with friends, she said, one of whom—Robert—was coming to London that afternoon to get some of her things from the flat. Unfortunately, however, she went on, she had mislaid her door key. ‘Would you,’ she asked, ‘give my friend the spare one I left with you . . . ? He should be there early this afternoon.’
As soon as lunch was over I drove over to the address in Fulham, went up the steps and rang the bell marked Davis. After a few moments a short, stocky woman in her early forties appeared. I was Catherine’s friend Robert, I told her and she smiled at me and ushered me inside. At the door of her own flat she asked me to wait a moment, went away and returned almost immediately.
‘What’s Catherine doing in Bristol?’ she asked as she handed me the key.
‘Oh, just taking a little break, that’s all . . .’
‘She certainly gets around. I was wondering what had happened to her; I haven’t seen anything of her for ages. She’s all right, is she?’
‘Yes, she’s fine.’
‘I’ve been up in her flat a couple of times—just to make sure that everything’s all right. There’s quite a stack of mail there . . .’
‘I’ll take it with me,’ I said.
‘Yes—and tell her—if she wants anything sent on, let me know.’
‘I’ll tell her . . .’
I left her then, went up the stairs to the first floor and let myself into Catherine’s flat. When I came out half an hour later I carried two heavy suitcases loaded with her possessions. I put them into the car, glanced quickly around to see whether anyone was taking any special interest in my movements, decided that no one was, and set off back to Streatham.
* * *
A range of beautiful, intricately designed cut-out models was delivered to the shop later that week and on Thursday evening I sat with Julia and Simeon around the dining table trying to assemble one of them. Em was at the flat with Catherine. The children didn’t know this, though; they weren’t aware of Catherine’s existence; to their mind Em was out somewhere with Ivor . . .
The children and I had got over half-way towards completion of the model—a medieval castle complete with knights, dragons and fair ladies—when the telephone rang. It was Em.
‘I’m just about to drive Catherine to the hospital,’ she said briskly. ‘She’s gone into labour. I’ve been timing the contractions and I don’t think it’s going to be very long. I’ll phone you later on.’
Her next call came just after two the following morning. While Julia and Simeon were sleeping soundly upstairs I had been fitfully dozing on the sofa in the sitting room. Now, at the sound of Em’s voice I was at once wide awake. She was calling from the hospital this time, she told me, and went on to say—with the slightest trace of irony in her voice—that I had just become the proud father of a daughter.
‘That makes a change,’ I said, playing down my feelings of relief that it was all over, ‘—we usually have sons, we Rigbys.’
Chapter Nineteen
There were just two visiting hours each day; one in the afternoon and the other in the evening. As Em had gone to see Catherine from two-thirty to three-thirty I got there for the seven o’clock hour.
The ward was small, having only four beds in it, and on the dot of seven I entered along with the other visitors and made my way towards the bed in the left-hand corner where Catherine sat against the pillows. She looked a little drawn, but very happy. I pressed her hand and gave her the bunch of yellow roses I’d brought. As she admired them I walked around to the other side of the bed where the baby lay sleeping.
There was no mistaking the fact that she was my daughter. Besides her colouring I could also see myself in her tiny features. I stood for a moment gazing down at her then turned my attention back to Catherine. She had been watching me, looking for my reactions.
‘She’s lovely,’ I said, smiling at her.
‘You like her? She’s so much like you.’
I nodded, grinning. ‘I could wish for her sake that she didn’t look quite as much like me as she does. I have to say, though, that she’s a lot prettier.’
‘She’s beautiful.’ She paused and added, ‘I shall call her Susanna.’
‘That’s a nice name.’
I sat down in the chair at her side and for the next hour we talked, interrupted only briefly by a young nurse who came to put the roses in water. When at last a bell rang out in the corridor I reluctantly got to my feet. ‘I shall see you tomorrow evening,’ I said. I took her hand in mine. ‘Is there anything you’d like me to bring for you?’
‘No, thanks.’ She glanced over at the small form of the sleeping baby then turned her smile to me. ‘I’ve got just about everything I want right now.’
‘It shows,’ I said, smiling back at her. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you look so happy before.’
‘Well—’ her face clouded briefly and then lightened again, ‘—I feel safe here.’
* * *
When I went to see her the next evening I asked whether she’d given any further thought to what she would do when she left the hospital.
After a moment she said, ‘—I’ve got that friend I was with at drama school. I told you about her. She’s married now and lives in Edinburgh. I think I shall
write to her. I just need a place to stay while I look around for a flat of my own. My parents left me something, and I shall have enough to get started again—enough for the two of us—without using the money those people gave me.’
‘But will you be able to support the two of you?’
‘Once I get a job.’
‘In the theatre?’
‘No, that’s too insecure—and besides, you need to be in London to have any chance of success in that field. With a child to bring up I’ll have to look for something that’s—dependable. I’ll find some nice, safe little office job somewhere. We shall be all right.’
‘I’ll help you all I can,’ I said.
‘Thank you—but I shan’t need anything, truly.’ Her glance locked with mine, then her smile faded and an awkward silence fell between us. She said after a moment:
‘You’ve done so much for me—for us. You’ve been so good.’
‘No, no—I’ve done what anyone would do.’
‘That’s not true. And when I think how I helped get you into this mess in the first place . . .’
‘Like you said—you didn’t know me then.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
I saw there were tears in her eyes. ‘Come on, come on,’ I said. I took her hand. ‘There’s no reason for tears. The nurse will think I’ve been trying to upset you.’ My voice sounded hoarse.
* * *
On Monday I got a letter from Ilona. It came in answer to mine regarding the flat. Its bright and breezy tone took me somewhat by surprise. She didn’t seem in the least put out. Not to worry about the flat, she said, she’d go to a hotel or stay with some other friends. Besides, she went on, her return was being delayed anyway; the production was running slightly behind schedule and now they didn’t expect to finish before the end of May . . .
Well, I said to myself, at least her return wasn’t going to prove a problem . . .
* * *
Catherine’s smile of welcome didn’t seem that certain when I walked into the ward the next evening. For the moment, though, I let it pass. After greeting her I moved to the cot and looked down at the baby.
‘Is she always so good?’ I said.
‘Oh, she has her moments. She can shout as well as the best of them—but she’s pretty well content right now.’
I turned back to Catherine. ‘And how are you today?’
‘Oh, I’m fine . . .’
‘—Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ Then she added quickly, ‘I meant to tell you—I wrote to my friends in Edinburgh yesterday. I gave your home address for them to reply to—I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ I paused. ‘Have you ever been to Edinburgh?’
‘No. But I hear it’s a beautiful city.’
‘Yes, so I understand. Do you want to go there?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve got to go somewhere—where we’ll both be safe.’
‘Yes . . .’ I nodded. ‘Someday, soon, all this will be in the past.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Her voice was flat. I looked at her for a moment and then said softly: ‘Catherine, what’s the matter? Tell me what’s wrong.’
She didn’t answer at once, but then she sighed and said wearily:
‘It didn’t take them long, did it?’
I stared at her.
‘Them,’ she said, ‘—those people. They know where I am—and that I’ve had my baby.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘The sister told me someone phoned up to ask about me—how I was getting on, and when I was likely to be leaving. It could only have been them.’ She gave a pathetic little shrug. ‘Ah, well, I suppose it was only a matter of time. After all, all they had to do was phone up all the maternity hospitals and keep asking “How is Mrs. Langham?”—and they’d be bound to strike lucky sooner or later.’
I was silent for a moment, then I said: ‘Okay, but that’s as far as they’ll get. Now we know that they know—so we can take the necessary precautions.’
‘But they’re—they’re desperate to get my baby,’ she said despairingly. ‘How long can they be stopped?’
‘Please . . .’ I pressed her hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe. And then eventually they’ll—they’ll give up.’
* * *
On my way along the corridor leading from the ward I saw the sister. She was a rail-thin, wiry little woman whose appearance belied her warmth. She smiled at me as I approached and then listened attentively as I asked her about the phone call earlier that day. No, she said, in answer to my question, the caller hadn’t given a name.
‘Was it a man or a woman?’
‘A man.’
‘Can you remember exactly what was said?’
She thought for a moment then said, ‘—He just asked how Mrs. Langham and her baby were getting along—and when she was expected to leave. I told him that she was fine—and so was her daughter—and that they should be leaving on Friday morning.’
‘And that’s all . . .’
‘Yes.’ She looked at me keenly. ‘Is anything wrong?’
I forced a smile. No, I told her, everything was fine.
* * *
I slept badly on Thursday night, my sleep upset by a series of disturbing dreams. I awoke early; it was still only half-past-six. I turned off the clock; I wouldn’t need the alarm now. After a while I got up and went downstairs, made a cup of instant coffee and carried it back to bed. With the curtains drawn back I sat against the pillows, smoking, sipping the hot coffee and gazing out unseeing at the bright May morning. I thought about Catherine and the baby.
As the week had progressed I had watched her become increasingly anxious about her departure from the hospital. I’d kept insisting to her that she and the baby would be all right, but I knew only too well that I had no real means of ensuring their safety. I could go to the police—but I didn’t see that that would accomplish anything. Even if they did eventually believe the incredible story I’d have to tell I didn’t think they’d be able to do much. Supposing they did put some sort of guard on Catherine and the child once they were discharged from the hospital—what then? Such a guard couldn’t be kept indefinitely; there would have to come a time when the protection would end . . . The trouble was, I realized, we just didn’t know what was behind it all—and without knowing how could we hope to combat it? In the end I was forced to accept that Catherine’s course was the only one—that she should get as far away from them as possible—to a place where they wouldn’t dream of looking for her . . .
A slight noise brought my head around to the door and I watched it open a little way and saw Simeon’s fair hair appear. He stood looking at me, smiling, only his head in view.
‘What are you doing up so early?’ I asked in a loud whisper.
‘I don’t know. I just—woke up.’ He too was whispering, but in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I heard you go downstairs,’ he said.
‘Hmm.’ I smiled at him and as soon as he saw the smile he came into the room, closed the door and scampered over to the bed. I put down my cup and pulled back the covers.
‘What happened to your pyjamas?’ I asked as he scrambled in.
‘I took them off. I got too warm.’ He was snuggling up, wrapping his arm around me.
‘And now you’ve got cold.’
‘Yes, but I’ll soon get warm again.’ He snuggled closer, eyes closed, and I put my left arm around his smooth shoulder. His presence was comforting. I drew on my cigarette and looked back to the window. After a minute he said:
‘Smoking in the morning?—before breakfast? That’s not like you.’ He was looking up at me now.
‘No, it’s not, is it. I didn’t sleep too well, though, and I woke up too early. Still, that’s no excuse, is it?’
‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’
&nb
sp; ‘I suppose I was thinking too much.’
‘—What were you thinking about?’
‘Oh . . . things . . .’
‘I’ve been thinking about things too.’
‘What have you been thinking about?’
‘—My birthday.’
‘Ah, yes . . .’ I looked down at him and saw his eyes very steady upon mine.
‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ he said.
‘Well—I’m glad you reminded me.’ I quickly worked out the dates. ‘The 19th,’ I said, ‘—that’s next Monday.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you thought about what you’d like?’
‘—I’m thinking about it. Can I tell you later?’
‘Yes, give it some more thought.’
‘Right. You try to think about your problem and I’ll try to think about mine.’
Two minutes went by and he said:
‘Daddy, I’ve thought.’
‘Oh, yes, and what have you decided?’
‘Well—when Mike and Chris were seven they had bikes.’
‘And is that what you’d like?’
‘Could I?’
‘I should think you could.’
‘Ah, thanks.’ He smiled and closed his eyes. How easily his problem was solved, I said to myself.
Chapter Twenty
There was a letter for Catherine in the morning post. It had an Edinburgh postmark. I’d take it with me, I said, when I went to pick her up from the hospital later that morning. Em had offered to go to enable me to get on with my work at the shop but I’d decided that it would be better if I went myself. I didn’t really think anyone would attempt to take the child in the middle of a busy street and in broad daylight, but there was no knowing. I didn’t know how desperate they were, so I could take no chances.
On my last visit to the hospital I had taken a small case containing clothes for Catherine and the baby and now when I arrived there I found the two of them all dressed and ready to leave. When we got to the main doors Catherine hesitated with the baby in her arms and looked out anxiously onto the street.
The Reaping Page 15
