‘And now it’s over,’ Harold interrupted abruptly, rolling up the newspaper he had been reading and tapping it against his knee for punctuation. ‘The sooner she leaves that place and starts earning some sort of a living the better.’
‘I’m sorry, Harold,’ Helen sighed. ‘But I don’t think this is making much sense. Kate’s only seventeen. She doesn’t really know any boys, so she’s hardly going to run off and get married at the drop of a hat.’
‘Helen. That is quite enough.’ Harold rose, still tapping the rolled-up newspaper against one leg as he prepared to leave the room.
‘Harold – very few girls have the kind of gifts that our Kate has. Shouldn’t we be thinking that it’s a good thing rather than a bad thing to be so gifted? And that eventually, having obtained a degree – which she is bound to do – she will be so much better qualified, be able to get a better job. Rather than just something menial such as secretarial work? If you don’t mind my saying—’
‘I mind you saying it very much indeed, as it happens. I’m all for women having a certain amount of knowledge so they can at least converse with their husbands, but nothing will change my view that a woman’s place is finally in the home – looking after her husband, who after all is the bread winner, and bringing up his children. That is the way it has always been. Blue stockings do not look good on a woman.’
‘I know how you feel, Harold, but things are changing, I’m sure they are. Things always do.’
‘Thank God you never thought of becoming a teacher, Helen. The rubbish you would have filled your pupils’ heads with …’ He shook his head, before going on. ‘Change is all fine and large, and greatly to be encouraged, as long as everything finally remains in place.’ Harold smiled appreciatively to himself at his bon mot, before looking to his wife to see if she had enjoyed it as much as he had, which unfortunately was not the case. ‘I said,’ he began again, only to be once more interrupted by his wife.
‘Kate has considerable sporting gifts, as you know,’ Helen said, raising her voice enough to make sure she was going to be heard. ‘Besides her academic qualities, her tennis coach thinks that she could really go far.’
‘I am simply not interested in what some failed ex-club player has to say about my daughter’s so-called sporting abilities, Helen. Heaven knows Robert’s education hasn’t come cheap, but he is my son. I am not spending any more on our daughter’s education and that is an end to it.’
When Kate and Robert finally appeared for dinner, Harold ignored Kate, talking only to Robert about the latest news, digesting the contents of his newspaper reading so that he could then discuss the increasing severity of the world situation.
Kate tried to draw her mother aside to see what had been said about her school report, but the moment she did her father interrupted, sending Helen out to the kitchen to fetch in the dinner, while making sure that Kate remained listening to him in respectful silence.
Nor was anything said over dinner.
When Harold had finally withdrawn to his study, Kate and Robert turned to quiz their mother.
‘Well, Kate darling …’ Her mother looked away. ‘It’s not up to me, but I really don’t think it’s fair.’
‘What isn’t, Mum?’ Kate asked, looking to Robert once she had noticed the despair in her mother’s eyes.
‘What is it, Mother?’ Robert wondered, coming and sitting on the arm of her chair. ‘What isn’t fair?’
‘Everything, Robert. Absolutely everything.’
She walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
‘I thought so,’ Kate said quietly. ‘I bet you anything Father’s going to take me away.’
Kate knew she was right, long before her mother confirmed as much. Kate also knew there would be no further debate on the matter, since whenever her father made up his mind about something, whatever it was, it became a fait accompli. Kate was to leave the convent of St Augustine at the end of term in order to go to a local secretarial training college and follow the path ordained for her by her father.
‘Ridiculous,’ Robert announced once their father had left for work the next morning. ‘Ridiculous, and unfair.’
‘You know your father, Robert,’ Helen said, stacking the sideboard with a pile of freshly ironed and folded table linen. ‘He doesn’t exactly deal in fairness.’
‘No point in us having another word with him, I suppose?’
‘Since when has your father ever listened to me?’
‘Even if Mother did have a go, Bobby, it would be pointless,’ Kate said, walking to the window to stare out over the garden. ‘Once Father’s mind is made up, that’s it.’
‘That’s defeatist talk,’ Robert remarked. ‘We’re going to need a bit more backbone than that in the coming months, aren’t we?’ he added, looking quizzical.
‘It’s different for you – being a boy. You know what Father’s always said – girls don’t count.’
Kate hurried out of the kitchen through the back door, and into the garden. Helen shook her head at Robert and indicated he should go after her. When Robert caught up with her, Kate finally confessed that it wasn’t anything that her brother had said about her education that had particularly upset her, but the mention of the coming war.
‘Actually,’ Robert said quietly as they sat on the garden bench to one side of the tennis court, ‘if things go on as they are I’m thinking of volunteering for the Navy anyway, rather than waiting for hostilities to break out. I’d rather be prepared for what I’m going to do than join up in a panic and be taught in a rush. It’s only sensible when you think about it. Joining up now doesn’t make it any more risky. Besides, I know it’s something Father wants.’
‘I should have thought that’s enough to make you go for the army.’
Kate laughed her deep gurgling laugh, tossing her head back as she did so.
‘Oh, I know!’ Robert agreed, joining in the laughter. He turned and looked at his sister. ‘But it is a bit odd, don’t you think? The way Father treats us? Like – like we’re sort of – what’s the word … appendages.’
‘Appendages,’ Kate echoed, mock impressed. ‘Appendages no less.’
‘Well, he doesn’t really treat us as humans, does he? It’s a bit different for you, because you’re only his daughter—’
‘I know, not his son. Not heir to the vast Maddox fortunes.’
‘Girls don’t count – not to Father. You know that. He’s forever saying – quoting Grandfather who was forever saying girls don’t count. But even with you he has this – this reserve. As if he’s afraid.’
‘You’re too smart for me. Expliquez-vous.’
‘Seriously. Bobby – just be serious for a moment. What I reckon is Father had us, or rather Mother had us and Father said fine – got the two children, the pigeon pair, fine. That’s what married people do, they get married, make a home and have their pigeon pair. And then he suddenly realised – and you know how jealous and competitive Father can be—’
‘Try playing Canasta with him.’
‘I did, for my sins. He threw the cards in the fire when I won. And that’s my point. It was just about all right when we were small – I was something Mother looked after, and you were a bright, sporty boy at school – and he was still cock of the walk. The brilliant Professor Maddox. One of the great brains of his time.’
‘As he keeps telling us.’
‘Then not only did you start getting better and better school reports, with all your teachers saying you were university material both academically and psychologically – but I developed a brain and started getting good reports as well.’
‘Good reports?’ Robert widened his eyes at her. ‘You started getting extraordinary reports.’
‘That’s my point, you see. I think Father became afraid. I think he thought he was going to be outgrown by his children. I think he thought we were going to outstrip him and that suddenly the great and famous Professor Maddox would be no more.’
‘
Which is an absolute nonsense, of course.’
‘Yes – to us – but not to Father. And that explains the way he treats us. How he’s quite happy to steer you into the Navy and keep me out of Oxford. In other words, get shot of us.’
Robert blew out a plume of tobacco smoke and turned to look hard at his sister.
‘You know what you’re saying, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate said, dropping her eyes and looking at the ground. ‘But you know what I mean. Tigers like their cubs as long as they’re cubs. But when they grow into tigers …’
‘I’d still want to go for the Navy, Father or no Father.’
‘Of course you would, Bobby.’ Kate looked up now, putting a hand on one of her brother’s. ‘I know that. It doesn’t make any difference to your resolution. But it does make sense of what’s happened to us.’
Robert nodded, took a last draw on his smoke, and trod the butt out under one foot.
‘Don’t worry. If there was a choice, I’d rather be going up to Oxford than into the Navy, but that’s the times we live in.’
‘So would I. But since I’m now not going to be, I’m starting to see this war – if it’s going to happen—’
‘Which it will—’
‘I’m beginning to look on it all quite differently.’
‘In what way exactly?’
‘As a way of escape, I suppose. As representing some sort of a chance.’
‘Yes,’ Robert said, glancing over his shoulder back towards their home. ‘Yes, I think I see what you mean. In fact I know I do.’
‘So. Roll on the war I say.’
Robert stared at his sister, half appalled, half admiring.
‘That’s you all over, Kate Maddox,’ he grinned finally. ‘You always go that bridge too far.’
Five days after term ended Kate found herself enrolled at Mr Martin’s Academy for Clerical and Secretarial Education, an institution housed in an ugly Victorian redbrick house on the edge of the town, the purpose being for her to receive a bookkeeping and secretarial training up to Diploma level. A week later Robert signed on for the Royal Navy and then returned home to await his call to arms.
Professor Maddox seized the opportunity to take down and lock away the tennis net from their court. To Kate it seemed to be a calculated move, as if to symbolise the end of any freedom childhood had afforded her, and to signal a time when she was to fall into line and lead what her father delighted in describing as a quiet ordinary existence, the sort enjoyed by decent folk. The silver lining in this particular dark cloud was the fact that no sooner had he locked the tennis net away and dismantled the perimeter than he was called away to replace another lecturer on a two-week tour.
The professor’s family used this heavenly gift of freedom to do all the things they were usually forbidden from doing when the head of the household was in residence: eating meals at the kitchen table without napkins, playing noisy card games, listening to the Light Programme rather than the Home Service on the wireless and flopping around the house in dressing gowns and pyjamas at the weekend. All of a sudden they found themselves creating a childhood that they had never really experienced, and most of all they were left alone with their mother at a time in their lives when they could all fully relate to each other.
It was the happiest of times, a holiday at home, despite Kate’s having begun her secretarial course at an institution she described as being so dry it could self-ignite, and even though her fellow students were to a person unexciting, and notwithstanding the fact that Robert was waiting for his official summons to join whatever ship on which he was to serve.
Finally when their little holiday came to an end, and the professor returned, Kate, finding herself at a loose end, went for a long walk that somehow ended up in the grounds of the convent.
It being the holidays, it seemed there was no one about at all, other than a distant figure cutting the lawns. Before she knew it, Kate found herself standing on the number one tennis court, imagining she was playing a vital match as in fact she had done so often. She got so caught up in her fantasy that she began to hit imaginary shots with an imaginary racket, chasing imaginary balls over the court and even leaping up to smash back what she knew was a certain winner.
‘Good shot, Kate!’ a familiar voice called from behind her. ‘Wish we still had you on the team.’
Kate turned to greet her old coach, feeling a little foolish.
‘Hallo, Mr Wilkinson.’ She smiled. ‘I was just replaying some of the old matches.’
‘You certainly look as if you haven’t lost your touch, young Kate.’
Kate cleared her throat and looked at the ground, before deciding to come clean.
‘I’ve been banned,’ she said. ‘I’m not allowed to play any more.’
‘Not allowed to play? Who says so?’
‘My father. He says if I’m to go on playing I have to continue with my lessons – and since he can’t afford to pay for the lessons, and neither can I—’ Kate stopped and shrugged hopelessly. ‘My father’s a firm believer in if a thing is worth doing it is only worth doing properly.’
‘That isn’t the real reason, Kate, is it?’ Mr Wilkinson put down the tennis equipment he was carrying on the court chair, and took his jacket off. ‘He just doesn’t want you to go on with the sport.’
He looked at her, then handed her one of the two rackets he had brought with him.
‘From what I remember of your father, he doesn’t think much of women in sport.’
‘Well, there is that.’
‘Come on, enough of that. Let’s have a game.’
Kate looked down at her feet.
‘I haven’t brought my tennis things, just came by for old times’ sake—’
‘Never mind, sandals will do.’
As they began knocking up, Kate got that old heady feeling of the power skill imbues. She had only been off court for a matter of a couple of weeks, but the knowledge that her father had forbidden her to play made it feel infinitely longer. In fact only the night before she had begun to wonder whether she still had any real ability left, which was possibly why her subconscious had directed her up to the grounds of the convent.
They played, and as they did so it became even more apparent that Kate was right at the top of her game. Mr Wilkinson, no mean player himself, found himself at full stretch to reach and cope with the fusillade of volleys, smashes and aces that flew at him, and as Kate extended her lead by two games, then three, then four to win the first set 6–2 he found himself smiling.
‘Right,’ he said, collapsing on the chair by the net and towelling himself off. ‘Reckon it’s time I started trying.’
‘Me too.’ Kate grinned back at him. ‘If I’m to give you any sort of game.’
Kate had hardly broken sweat in the first set. She stood by the net, swinging her racket in practice, eyeing the imaginary balls and self-correcting any possible faults she thought she might have made. Mr Wilkinson cast an approving look at his former pupil, witnessing yet again her natural athleticism. Tall without being gangly or awkward, which so many tall girls were, Kate was also deceptively strong and able to move lightning fast. Most importantly she had the right mental attitude. If the game started to go against her, she never seemed to tighten up. She simply moved up a gear, stepped up the pace and attacked the net, taking the game to her opponent rather than seeking safety in the base line.
Realising Kate Maddox was not only going to beat him but beat him in straight sets Mr Wilkinson began to play as if his life depended on it. He played as if he were qualifying for the last available place at Wimbledon, putting the fact that he was playing a seventeen-year-old girl out of his head.
It wasn’t enough. In spite of winning the second set 9–7, he not only lost the deciding set but found himself drubbed, going down 6–3. ‘Come on, Kate,’ he sighed, collapsing with exhaustion on the bank of the lawns that rose above the grass court. ‘Out with it – because I no longer believe a word you say. You
haven’t been not playing – the way you’re playing I’d say you’ve been taking lessons from Dan Maskell.’
‘As a matter of fact, Mr Wilkinson, I’m not sure where all that came from. Maybe that game came from not being able to play.’
She gave him back his racket.
‘I think I’d better go home now,’ she said quietly in her deep voice, at the same time untying her hair and letting it fall.
‘Maybe I should have a word with your father,’ Mr Wilkinson decided, getting up and following Kate off the court.
‘I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind,’ Kate said politely, but Mr Wilkinson had already caught sight of the look in her eyes which was quite at odds with her quiet manner. ‘It’s very kind of you, but there wouldn’t be any point.’
‘You could go all the way, Kate,’ Mr Wilkinson insisted. ‘There aren’t many young women players of your calibre.’
‘That’s really very kind,’ Kate replied carefully. ‘But I’m being sent to secretarial college, to learn typing and shorthand.’
‘Typing and shorthand?’ Mr Wilkinson stared at her in sheer disbelief. ‘No. No, that is just ridiculous.’
‘It might be, but that’s what I’m doing. Now I really must go. Thank you so much for the game.’
Before he could say another word, Kate turned and hurried away from the courts. Peter Wilkinson watched her go, shook his head, then in a fit of uncharacteristic pique kicked the slatted wooden chair by the net.
Kate ran home, fearful now that she was going to be too late to bathe and change after her unexpected exertions. As she ran she could not help thinking that if war broke out tomorrow she would not sigh, or cry. Her young life had already ended in a cul-de-sac. She knew now there was only one way to go, and that was forward, although to what exactly she could not have said.
Chapter Six
While Marjorie had become so unconcerned by the whereabouts of her mother that had she received news of her death she would have found herself only mildly interested, she had become more intrigued by her aunt’s so-called business days, the three days a week she left the house for a still unspecified purpose, disappearing after breakfast and sometimes not returning till late in the evening. The reason for Marjorie’s fascination lay not only in the unnamed nature of her work, but also in the irregularity of the hours she kept.
Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 Page 11
