Francesca and the Mermaid

by Beryl Kingston

  At that, Jeffrey lost his temper and began to rage. ‘Why don’t you keep your fucking nose out of my business?’ he shouted at Henry. ‘It’s a domestic. That’s all. A domestic. Nothing to do with you. Can’t you get that into your thick head? Christ Almighty! Have I got to endure this?’

  His temper was his undoing. The two policemen looked at one another, plainly changing their opinion of him as he roared. Henry raised his eyebrows at the senior policeman.

  It was enough. ‘If you’ll just come with us, Mr Walmesly,’ the policeman said.

  And rather to Francesca’s surprise, Jeffrey stopped shouting, stood up, shrugged his shoulders, said ‘If I must’ and went. The relief in the room when he’d gone lifted them like a sunrise. Agnes and Henry beamed at one another and Francesca laid her head against Henry’s protective shoulder and closed her eyes.

  ‘I must go and see to that poor pie,’ Agnes said. ‘It’ll have to go in the freezer now. How much time have I got?’

  ‘Take as long as you need,’ Henry told her. ‘We’re late already but I’m sure they’ll wait for us.’ And when she’d stomped off to the kitchen, he kissed the top of Francesca’s head and set about his more immediate enquiries. ‘Can I see your neck, my darling?’

  She put her hand up to cover her bruises not wanting to make a fuss. ‘It’s all right.’

  He was firm and loving. ‘Well, let’s hope so but I would like to see it.’

  She lifted her chin to give him a clear view and he sat back a little to examine her. ‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘Does it hurt you to swallow?’

  ‘Not now. It did but it’s easing off now.’

  ‘Could you face a cup of tea?’

  Yes, having thought about it, she could, so Agnes was called upon to provide one, which she did impressively quickly. ‘Sip it first,’ she said as she handed it over.

  It was sipped and enjoyed. ‘Oh this is lovely. Nice and warm.’ Henry and Agnes exchanged glances.

  ‘What do you think?’ Agnes asked her old friend.

  He was still anxious. ‘Does it hurt you to swallow?’ he asked Francesca.

  She smiled at him for the first time since his arrival. ‘No. It’s lovely. I’m all right, really. Are we going to the exhibition?’

  ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

  ‘Then we are. I’ll just get a scarf and cover this up a bit.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Agnes said. ‘I know where your things are.’ And went.

  ‘Darling, darling girl,’ Henry said. ‘You’re sure about this?’

  She smiled at him again. ‘Yes. Quite sure. We can’t let them down.’

  ‘All right then,’ he agreed, ‘but you’re to stay by me all the time in case you find the crush a bit difficult.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Agnes was stomping back, dangling two scarves in her free hand. ‘I’ve brought you two,’ she said. ‘They’re the best match I could find. What do you think?’

  So with the chosen scarf skilfully arranged to hide her bruises and her thick coat buttoned up to her chin to keep her warm, Francesca went to her first exhibition with her most special friends Agnes and Henry. And she hardly felt nervous at all.

  CHAPTER 19

  Henry was right about the crush. There were so many people in the showroom that Francesca couldn’t see the pictures at all and the pressure of so many bodies all round her made her feel so unsteady on her feet that she had to cling onto Henry’s arm for support as they walked into the room. Agnes strode through the crowd using her crutch to insinuate herself into one group after another, greeting people she knew and smiling on everybody who moved aside for her.

  ‘Splendid occasion,’ Reggie boomed, striding towards them with a champagne glass in his hand. ‘Splendid. Have you seen our portrait yet? It looks top hole.’ He was dressed in the clothes he’d worn for his sitting and was twinkling and beaming. ‘Have some of this champers. It’s deuced good. Evening Henry. Splendid occasion.’

  One of Henry’s caterers appeared in front of them with a tray full of champagne flutes and Henry took two and gave one to Francesca advising her to sip it when she felt like it. The place was loud with excited voices and in constant and animated movement. People drifted in and out of her field of vision, here Molly in a very pretty dress, waving and blowing kisses, there Tom and Sandra smiling shyly before they were engulfed by another swirl of the crowd. It was like being in the middle of a huge, constantly-shifting kaleidoscope and it made her feel queasy as if she was seasick. Now she was hanging on to Henry’s arm to keep her balance. From time to time he patted her hand and told her she was doing wonderfully, which encouraged her, but for most of the time she was confused and unsure of herself. Once, Liam and his wife materialized at her elbow and said how wonderful they thought her pictures were and she smiled and thanked them and said she was glad they were enjoying themselves but after they’d left her she couldn’t remember a single thing they’d said; once she heard a voice she thought she recognized, holding forth about how wonderful she was and how she was a ‘beacon of light’ to him, ‘a true friend, took me in when I’d been thrown out on the street, imagine that. Oh yes, a true friend.’ And while she was still struggling to put a name to the voice Brad came easing through the crowd wearing the green livery of Henry’s catering company and bearing a tray full of vol-au-vents.

  ‘Try one,’ he urged, beaming at her. ‘They’re delicious.’

  She thought how good it was to see him at work and happy about it. He didn’t look so fat and the smile altered the shape of his face. She would have liked to ask him about it but she didn’t have the energy. Fortunately Henry seemed to be reading her thoughts and asked for her.

  ‘I gather you’re working for Joshua now,’ he said.

  ‘Since last month, sir,’ Brad said.

  ‘And you enjoy it?’ It was only just a question.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Brad said happily. ‘It’s a great job. You meet all sorts of people. Fact I think I can say, I’ve fallen on my feet in this one.’ Then he remembered what he was really supposed to be doing and offered the tray to them. ‘Do have one. They’re delicious.’

  Francesca took one to please him although she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat it and passed it on to Henry as soon as she could. Which was just as well because the next person to edge thorough the crush towards her was Christine, looking very smart in an electric blue trouser suit.

  ‘Are you ready to face the press?’ she asked and without waiting for an answer. ‘Just follow me. Isn’t this a splendid crowd! Your work’s really selling. The local paper’s come and the TV. They’re over there by the mermaid.’

  It was a dream of course, a fantasy world peopled by smiling faces and waving hands and excited voices. It wasn’t possible that it could have anything to do with her. They reached the mermaid and she was introduced as ‘our talented local artist’, was aware of cameras and notebooks and a microphone and answered questions as well as she could, with Henry standing protectively beside her. But it was all unreal.

  ‘One more hour,’ Henry said, when she was finally allowed to walk away from her questioners, ‘and then I’m going to take you home and feed you.’

  She felt she ought to confess that she wasn’t very hungry.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘I’m a dab hand with invalid food. I shall tempt whatever’s left of your appetite.’ He put his arm round her shoulders to steer her through the crowd. ‘Now you must take a little look at how well your paintings are selling.’

  ‘Do you really think they are?’

  ‘Oh yes. I know one that went ten minutes after the doors were opened.’

  That was a surprise. ‘Really?’ she said. She couldn’t remember anyone coming up to tell him. ‘How do you know that?’

  But before he could say a word, the answer came rushing through the crush to tell her. Sandra and Tom both beaming all over their faces.

  ‘We got it, Mr Prendergast,’ Sandra said. ‘We were the first through th
e door. He sent us three tickets, Francesca, one for each of us and a note warning us to get here early because your painting of our Tom was so moderately priced it’d be snapped up at once, so we got our skates on. It does look lovely all framed and everything. Mr Magnet is over there now buying his portrait too. I’ll bet you feel proud of yourself.’

  ‘As she should,’ Henry said. ‘I’m glad you got here in time.’

  They took a gentle stroll all around the exhibition and Henry pointed out every single blue sticker. ‘You see,’ he said. ‘It’s a massive success.’

  She held his arm and agreed with him. How could she do anything else when as far as she could see three quarters of her paintings had already been sold? Three quarters for heaven’s sake and it was only the first night. And while this thought was filling her brain, Molly suddenly appeared at her elbow.

  ‘Do you know what your Henry’s done?’ she asked, her face glowing. ‘He’s only gone and bought our portrait and given it to me.’

  ‘With a proviso, don’t forget,’ Henry said grinning at her. ‘She’s got to give it back to me whenever I need it for an exhibition or to show at the works.’

  He’s so generous, Francesca thought, and so kind. And she glad he was going to look after her, even though she knew she’d never be able to eat a meal – not even to please him. But there wasn’t time to dwell on that either, because Agnes was heading towards them with Babs and Reggie following in her wake.

  ‘We’re cutting off for something to eat,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you Francesca but I’m starving. How about you two coming with us?’

  Francesca looked worried and Henry read her mind again. ‘I don’t think she’s up to facing a restaurant this evening,’ he said, ‘Are you Francesca? No. Thank you for asking Aggie but we’re going to cut off home in a few minutes and I’m going to cook her something easy to eat.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Agnes said. ‘See you later then.’

  The crowd was thinning at last. ‘Ready for the off?’ Henry said.

  He eased her into his car very gently, made sure she was comfortable and fastened the seat belt for her and it was all so solicitously done that she was suddenly overwhelmed and put her head in her hands and began to cry.

  ‘I’m so – sorry,’ she wept, struggling to control herself. ‘I shouldn’t be . . . I mean . . . I ought to . . . Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  He turned in the driving seat and put his arms right round her holding her against his chest and stroking her hair. ‘Cry all you like, my darling,’ he said. ‘It’s what you need. Tears are healing. You cry all you like.’

  And as if he’d given her permission she cried for a very long time and he held her and kissed her hair and called her his darling until she was calm again. Then he produced a clean white handkerchief and wiped her eyes and her cheeks and smiled at her lovingly. ‘Better now?’ he said. And when she nodded, ‘Then we’ll go home.’

  He drove even more carefully than usual and Francesca closed her eyes and dozed, exhausted by weeping. She was glad when Henry led her upstairs to what he called ‘my guest room’ as soon as they were both in the house.

  ‘It’s nice and comfortable,’ he said, patting the huge double bed, ‘and it’s got an en suite, through that door there and if there’s anything you want during the night, I’m just along the corridor. Now I’m going downstairs to cook you supper. Could you fancy a pot of tea with it? Good. I can’t provide you with PJ’s or a night dress but I’ll look out a nice soft shirt for you if you like.’

  As that seemed to need an answer, she said, ‘Yes, please.’ And he went away for a few minutes and returned with a pale blue shirt over his shoulder and laid it on the end of the bed.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back presently.’

  And was, with a loaded tray on which he’d set out a little pot of tea, with a milk jug and sugar basin to match, two cups and a plate on which he’d set a boiled egg in a matching egg cup and a slice of bread with the crusts removed, carefully cut into long neat slices.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, sitting up in bed in his blue shirt. ‘Boiled egg and soldiers. I haven’t had that since I was a little thing.’

  ‘It’s all nice and runny,’ he told her happily. ‘My egg timer never fails. I’ve brought two cups so I shall sit on the bed and have a cup of tea and keep you company.’

  She ate every last crumb and drank two cups of tea while he talked about the exhibition and how well it had gone.

  ‘Now I’m going to leave you to sleep,’ he said when she’d finished. And he picked up the tray, turned out the light and was gone.

  I shall never get to sleep after all this, she thought, and fell instantly into a deep and troubled nightmare where frightening creatures loomed towards her one after the other out of a terrible darkness. Faceless men rushed towards her, claws outstretched for her neck as she writhed and twisted to avoid them; her mermaid was dragged away from her, that beautiful tail tied and torn by implacable ropes and her face anguished; Jeffrey stood over her, huge and dark-faced and menacing, shouting ‘You’ve come into money, you stupid bitch. I came to tell you. See? See? You can’t blame me for anything.’

  She woke with a start, feeling confused and frightened in a dark unfamiliar room, unable to think where she was. She felt she had to do something to find out, so after a while, she got up carefully and walked across to the faint oblong of light that she supposed was a window and stood between the curtains looking out at the darkness. It took quite a long time for her eyes to adjust to it but then, with relief, she saw that it was Henry’s spacious garden. Of course, she thought, as the nightmare receded, I’m at Henry’s. She could hear his voice speaking quietly to her and realized that there was a gentle light behind her.

  ‘Are you all right little one?’

  ‘A nightmare,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘That’s all. Just a nightmare. Silly of me.’

  He was beside her, turning her gently towards him, his arms around her, warm and comforting. ‘Not silly at all after all you’ve been through.’

  She leant her head on his shoulder, glad he was there. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s going away now.’

  He stroked her cheek gently, noticing how cold it was. ‘Come back to bed,’ he said. ‘It’s too chilly to be standing around. I won’t leave you, I promise.’

  She was feeling so much better she smiled at him. ‘Then you’ll get cold,’ she said.

  He grinned at that. ‘No I won’t,’ he told her, leading her back to the bed. ‘I’m going to stay here and look after you till you’re asleep again. That bed’s big enough for the both of us.’

  Which he did, lying beside her, cuddled together and snug under the duvet in their private darkness as if they’d been sleeping together for years. And somehow it seemed perfectly proper and almost entirely natural.

  When she woke for the second time the room was full of muted light, the garden was hidden by a low-lying white mist and Henry was gone. There was a conversation niggling in her mind like a distant echo and she knew it was important and was disturbed because she couldn’t remember it. She lay among the pillows and tried to concentrate it into clarity but the harder she tried the more impossible it became.

  ‘Ah!’ Henry said from the doorway. ‘You’re awake.’ He was showered, shaved and dressed in his familiar chinos and his favourite jersey. ‘What do you fancy for breakfast?’

  The memory slotted into her mind at the sight of him, clear and entire, as if he’d triggered it. ‘I’ve come into some money,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘Was that during the night or while I’ve been showering?’

  ‘Jeffrey told me. I’d forgotten it. He said “some relation” had left me his money and I was to phone my mother.’

  ‘Last night?’ Henry asked. ‘Was it true, do you think, or was he making it up?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘he was using it as a sort of excuse to make the police think he had the right to be in the flat but there might be
truth in it. My father had a brother who was supposed to be well off. We hardly ever saw him. I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. My mother was scathing about him. She used to say he was a recluse. But it could be him I suppose. Or it could be one of Jeffrey’s lies.’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Henry said. ‘You’ll have to ring your mother. But let’s have our breakfast first. Could you fancy waffles?’

  They breakfasted in the kitchen in a happily leisurely way, she swathed in his dressing gown which was much too big for her and wonderfully warm, he sitting opposite her at the table, admiring her and thinking how good it was to have her there.

  ‘There’s a problem with ringing my mother,’ she said, holding her third cup of tea in both hands and looking thoughtful.

  What a worrier she is, he thought. ‘Which is?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want her to know where I am.’

  ‘Then don’t tell her.’

  ‘Won’t she be able to trace me through my phone?’

  ‘Not unless she’s a whizz kid.’

  That made Francesca smile but her amusement didn’t last long. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I haven’t spoken to her since I left the flat.’

  ‘Do it now. It’ll only worry you if you don’t.’

  ‘She’ll be in the shop,’ Francesca said, looking at the clock. ‘Maybe I should leave it till this evening. She doesn’t like being interrupted in the shop.’ Her forehead was wrinkled with worry.

  ‘Drink your tea and do it now,’ Henry insisted. ‘Where’s your phone?’

  ‘In my bag,’ Francesca said, ‘only I don’t know where that is.’

  ‘I do,’ Henry told her. He knew he was putting pressure on her, but it was necessary or she’d just go on worrying all day. ‘I hung it in the hall last night. Stay there and I’ll fetch it for you.’

  It was fetched, the phone was found and Francesca made a grimace, took a deep breath and dialled her mother’s number, half hoping that she wouldn’t answer.

  The answer was almost instant. ‘Bella’s Boutique,’ her mother’s voice cooed. ‘How can I help you?’