by RJ Hunter
"In a few moments I'll be driving Pamela home." Said Edward, in a soft and slightly quaking voice. "Mrs. Gardener is upstairs, packing some of her things. The rest, I shall remove later."
He looked directly at Janice, then Lizzie, and was still unsure whether he should tell them what was really on his mind. He felt Pamela gently squeeze his hand, and drew encouragement from her touch. The two girls were stunned and unnerved by this strange, emotive side their father was displaying, and they noticed immediately, the incredible bond between him and Pamela. It was something that disturbed them, and they were incapable of realising the true depth and meaning of a relationship which they could find so appalling.
Lizzie and Janice, despite their victory were more than pleased to leave their father's house. However, in their hurry, they failed to hear the sobbing coming from Margaret's room. The sobbing that grew louder and louder, until it became unbearable and tore at the very centre of Edward's troubled heart.
Mrs. gardener sat the woman, who had been her employer and friend for more years than she chose to remember in her wheelchair. Margaret would then sit by the window, so she could gaze out onto the lawn and admire the rose bushes when they were in bloom. It was a beautiful garden and one that she enjoyed tending herself, not so very long ago.
Mrs. Gardener however, may or may not have known about Edward's secret - that Pamela was Lizzie's natural mother. Certainly, if she did know, it was something she would never speak of, and rather than betray her employer's trust, she would sooner take the secret to her grave.
Mrs. Gardener would always find the time to speak to Margaret, and she would always address her as Mrs. Marchmont. She would never know if Margaret could hear or interpret the information, but it was something she felt was important. She would talk of the small, but necessary things in life, things that she found interesting herself, local news, like who had got married recently, the cost of living, and the ills of society. That was always a popular topic of Mrs. Gardener, and one which she felt she could never quite understand. On that particular morning, before the rumpus, she had been telling Margaret, as she brushed her hair, about the birth of her new grandson, Charles - named after the young Prince. She spoke of all the presents and knitted clothes the baby had received, and how he looked so much like her own son.
Following the awful scene downstairs, it was now taking a great deal of effort for Mrs. Gardener to try and calm Margaret. She had never seen her cry like this before, despite some pretty awful rows between Mr. and Mrs. Marchmont, in the early days, but this was something different.
"The shouting's all over now, there's nothing to worry about. I even heard Mr. Marchmont say he was going to get proper, trained nurses to come in and look after you. I'll still be coming in as well, but more for the housework and for little Bobby of course. It'll be lovely to have him home again, especially for Christmas, along with Lizzie. My word, how that girl's grown! She's turned into a proper, young lady now, and at university too." However, as Mrs. Gardener continued, she became aware of Margaret reaching out for her. She took the woman's hand, but noticed she was trying desperately to say something. Moving her head closer, Mrs. Gardener listened intently, as Margaret struggled to get her words out.
"I can't hear you, Mrs. Marchmont, try to speak just a little louder."
Then, in no more than a faint whisper, Margaret managed to speak, just one word.
However, despite further prompts from Mrs. Gardener, Margaret wouldn't say anymore. The housekeeper then ran downstairs and called Edward.
"Are you sure she spoke, I'm not entirely convinced," said Edward, looking down at his wife.
"Your wife said, 'Pamela', it was as clear as day. I would stake my life on it, Mr. Marchmont."
Edward sat down next to Margaret, and placed his arm around her shoulders.
"Darling, you are going to stay here with me, like you always have. We will never be apart. I've asked Pamela to leave, and she wont come back here again. I've been a fool. I had no idea, I'm so, so sorry, I hurt you, my dearest." Edward thought he saw a hint of a smile on Margaret's face, but he dismissed it, and got up to go back downstairs.
6. THE CHRISTMAS DANCE
It was midday, and a bleary-eyed Frank stood at the bar in the social club. He downed his pint, ordered another, then lit up his first cigarette of the day. He inhaled deeply, only to break into a frenzied coughing fit, before continuing with his version of the previous night's events.
"I could have killed her. She totally ruined the suit I brought for graduation. Stupid bitch couldn't hold her drink and puked up everywhere."
Ken listened intently, but couldn't help laughing at his friend's misfortune.
"You should make Pauline pay for it. Where is she anyway, her two stupid mates were asking for her earlier?"
"Damned if I know, I expect the inconsiderate little trollop is still pebble-dashing that hotel room." Sneered Frank, leaning slovenly against the bar. "I just stormed out in the end, it must have been about three in the morning - she was lousy in bed anyway."
Ken laughed, "What about the bill, how much did it cost you?"
"No idea," replied Frank, smugly, "That's her problem. Anyway, it wont come to anything like the cost of my bloody suit. Come on, lets go for a spin in the jag, I've got to get it back tomorrow."
They left the club and walked through the campus towards the administration building, as Ken wanted to see if he could get some tickets. It was a cold, frosty Friday, and the day of the university's Christmas dance.
"I'm telling you Frank, the only place you'll get tickets now is at the Dean's office. Just think, you'll be able to see Meredith's secretary, the one you fancy - what's her name, Mrs. Parker, isn't ?"
"It's Jane actually," drawled Frank, "I'm on first name terms with her," he added dryly, as he took out a metal comb from his pocket, and began pulling it through his hair.
They decided to check the post room first to see if any tickets might just be laying around, waiting for people to collect. Ken flicked through a pile of mail and assorted messages, but apart from what looked to be Christmas cards there was no sign of any tickets. However, he did notice an official-looking envelope addressed to Frank.
"It's probably just the usual crap, asking for my accommodation fees. They'll be lucky!" Cursed Frank bitterly, as he tore open the letter open.
"Shit!"
"What is it, Frank?"
"It's from that bastard, Meredith. Says I'm to attend his office regarding complaints about my behaviour. Cheeky swine."
"When is it?"
"Today, ten o'clock."
"But that was three hours ago!" Exclaimed Ken, as he took the letter from Frank. "Look at the date, its been here for ages. Don't you ever check for mail?"
"Fuck him. If that boring swine wants to see me, he can come looking."
"Maybe you should go and see your friend, Jane. She might be able to get you out of this mess. Besides, it'll give you a chance to chat her up and get us a couple of tickets for tonight."
Frank grinned and swaggered along the corridor, towards the Dean of Student's office. He passed grand-looking paintings of long-departed dons and group photographs of previous graduation days, which he paid no attention to. As he neared Mrs. Parker's office, he noticed a cabinet full of sporting trophies. He gazed through the glass at the cup he once held aloft, after he'd captained the rugby team's memorable, victory over their nearest rivals two years ago. Those days were long gone now, as Frank's hedonistic lifestyle had reduced him to being a mere substitute, if he was fortunate enough to get picked.
While he waited by her empty desk, Frank noticed that a pile of tickets for the Christmas dance had been left out. He winked at Ken, and took the opportunity, to slip a few of them into his inside pocket. A couple of minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Jane. He then sat on her desk and browsed through some papers he saw in the out box. Most were petty warning letters to students, regarding things like, noise and drinking. Reading a lette
r, which was addressed to one of the rugby team, he howled with laughter and had to read it again. No, he thought, this can't be serious - excessive breaking of wind in the halls of residence during the small hours!
He was disturbed by the sound of the adjoining door being opened, and looked across to see, Mr. Meredith standing in front of him.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Barked the Dean.
Frank stood up, and glared at him, angered by the Dean's tone of voice. "I'm waiting for Jane, what do think I'm bloody well doing?"
"Mrs. Parker is at lunch. How dare you come into her office and go through confidential papers." Scowled Meredith, returning Frank's glare.
The younger man, unnerved by the Dean's confidence and assertive manner, sighed as if he were bored, then put the papers back down on the secretary's desk.
"You're Frank Gant aren't you?" Demanded the Dean, moving closer, so that his face was just inches from Frank's.
Frank took a step back, then hurriedly produced the letter from his pocket.
"That's right, I've come about this. You see, Mr. Meredith - I got a bit held up." Smirked Frank, noticing the Dean's short, military-style haircut, and the hard stare from his cynical eyes. Meredith had served with Montgomery's Desert Rats, during the war, and was still very much indoctrinated with the army way of life.
"Don't try and get smart with me, Gant." Snarled Meredith, "You should have been in my office at ten o'clock this morning. Where were you?"
Frank looked down to avoid his tormentors gaze, and tried to get his drink and drug fazed mind to co-operate.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Meredith. I've been studying hard lately, and I woke up with such a severe headache, I had to take some aspirin and go back to bed."
The Dean smelt the alcohol on Frank's breath, and recalled a complaint about him splashing the old lady in town yesterday. Mrs. Davies had subsequently died in hospital, and the post office was closed until further notice, due to a police investigation taking place. He looked at Frank with total disgust, and tried desperately to contain his anger.
"Now, let's get this straight, Gant. I've received some very serious and disturbing complaints about you, and these matters need to be resolved. I have the authority to send you down, and withhold your degree. That is of course, if you have the ability to pass your finals. There'll be another letter in the post forthwith. Now get out of my sight."
It was well past midday by the time the young chambermaid reached the Falcon Suite. The hotel was three quarters full, with many guests enjoying the hospitality of a cheap night's board with the Christmas dinner and dance stopover offer. The hotel would rather let rooms at a discount, or as part of a special package, than let them stand empty. They would never lose out, since most of the guests were there for a good time and wouldn't notice the subtle price increases on most of the drinks.
Carol had been lucky to get the job at the hotel so soon after the awful incident with Frank back at the university. She loved her new position and was motivated by the fact that the hotel promoted from within. Many of the staff in senior positions had started out on the bottom rung of the ladder, just like Carol, and now at last, she had the opportunity to shine, and show what she was capable of.
Today, Mrs. Crayford, the Head Housekeeper had entrusted Carol with the Falcon Suite, one of the most luxurious and expensive rooms in the hotel.
Carol had been delighted to take on this new responsibility, and went about her work with a lightness of spirit. However, as she let herself into the suite with her master key, the smell of vomit was overpowering. Being dark inside, she went straight over to pull back the curtains and open a window. It was then that she heard a groan come from the bed. Carol was quite startled, as she didn't expect anyone to still be in the room during the afternoon. Checkout was at ten thirty, and she had knocked first before entering, as was customary.
She quickly checked her list to make sure it wasn't her mistake, then swallowed hard as she took in the state of the suite. There were several cigarette burns on the carpet, a champagne bottle lay on its side, accompanied by two glasses, one of which was shattered into dozens of tiny pieces. A torn, expensive-looking, silk blouse was draped over a coffee table, with its ivory buttons ripped off. A screwed up, tartan skirt had been discarded carelessly into a rubbish bin. A pair of knickers were dangling from a bedside lamp, stockings and a suspender belt were strewn across the bed, and a lace-trimmed bra, was lying next to a man's crumpled jacket, both covered in vomit.
Slowly, Carol went over to Pauline, being careful not to tread in anything she might regret. As she got closer, she picked up a pair of broken spectacles, which she placed on the bedside table.
"Are you awake Miss, can you hear me?" There was no response, apart from another groan. Carol was just about to try and rouse her again, when Pauline suddenly sat bolt upright and grabbed the startled girl by the hand.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Cried out Pauline, staring wide-eyed and looking frightened and confused, before collapsing back onto the bed.
Carol ran from the room to alert the housekeeper.
"It's awful, Mrs. Crayford, she looks like she's dying!" Blurted out Carol. "She hasn't got a stitch of clothing on, and there's all these bite marks on her - like she's been attacked by an animal!"
"Take control of yourself, Carol dear, now lets go together and see this poor lass."
"I would have helped her, but she's been sick everywhere. What shall we do?"
The housekeeper remained calm and reached down to a huge bunch of keys hanging from a chain attached to her waistband.
"Hush Carol, wait out here for me." With that, Mrs. Crayford unlocked the door and walked into the suite. She was inside for about two minutes, before she appeared back at the door and called Carol inside.
"The poor child's got a hangover. She's never drank before. We'll need a taxi to get her back to the university. She'll have a sore head for a while, and it'll damn well get worse when she gets the cleaning bill for this room. I've never seen anything like it - the suite will be out of use for days."
Mrs. Crayford then led Carol back inside, "Now my dear, I want you to help this girl clean herself up, then we'll have to get her out. I know her name, and I'm going down to speak to the duty manager, to see how we'll handle this. You've a lot to learn about the hotel business."
Pauline was now sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. She looked up slowly, as Carol approached.
"Oh my god, what has happened to me?"
"The housekeeper said you had too much to drink," replied Carol, trying to be helpful.
"Where's Frank? There was a man, where is he, did you see him?"
Carol felt a shiver run down her spine at the mention of Frank's name. "No, Miss. You were alone. I can call down to reception and ask them?"
"No, please don't. Can you help me, where's my glasses? I'm not sure if I can stand."
Carol reached across for Pauline's glasses. One lens was gone completely and other was shattered, as was the frame.
"I can get some sticky tape and see if I can repair them."
Pauline nodded, and tried to get up.
Carol had already fetched a robe from the bathroom, to cover the student's modesty, but as she stood, Carol couldn't help but gasp, when she saw the blood on the sheets.
Pauline glanced around and realised her nightmare had in fact, been for real. Her first instinct would have been to break down in despair and cry for something she had cherished so dearly, but had now been so cruelly taken away. However, that would have been the Pauline of old. For this Pauline, the crying days were over.
Before she was free to leave the hotel, Pauline had to suffer the indignity of being driven back to town by the manager, in order for her to withdraw practically every penny she had in her savings account. This was to pay for the cost of cleaning and repairing the hotel suite. As she handed over the money, Pauline suddenly reached up to her neck. She had remembered the beautiful necklace Fran
k had given her last night. She felt her heart sink to find it was gone. She pleaded with the manager to let her go back up and look for it, but he wouldn't listen, and ordered her off the premises. She did though, manage to retrieve Frank's jacket, before it would have been thrown away. Carol had kindly cleaned it up for her, and had then placed it in a bag. Pauline felt a certain affinity with the jacket, they were both Frank's property.
Pauline breathed in the fresh air and gazed out of the open taxi window, as she finally returned to the campus. Watching the green hills go steadily past, she tried to piece together the events of last night. There was so much she couldn't remember. One thing however remained crystal clear in her mind, despite the thumping headache. It was Frank who had pursued her, who had asked her out, who had wined and dined her. It was Frank who had taught her how to dance, and it was Frank who had planted his seed inside her. Now, as far as Pauline was concerned, she was his woman, his property. But more importantly, he was her man.
Sally hated the silence and longed for something to say that might cheer Lizzie up. Her friend had said very little about what had happened when she and Janice had confronted Edward.
"Yes, it went really well. Pamela has gone, Mum is going to stay at home, with nurses coming in to look after her, and Bobby is going back home as well."
Sally tried to get more details, but to no avail. It seemed to her that Lizzie was still harbouring issues or she was totally ashamed of how things had panned out. She decided not to question her friend anymore, and just wait until Lizzie felt ready to talk again.
