by Neale, Kitty
KITTY NEALE
Abandoned Child
I’d like to dedicate this book to Geoffrey and Margaret Hanson, with my love and congratulations on the occasion of their 60th wedding anniversary, which falls on 24th December 2013.
A diamond wedding for a diamond couple who are loved by all their family and friends.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Part Two
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
PART ONE
Chapter One
July 1977
‘Look, Mummy, look.’
‘Not now, Penny,’ Ruth said impatiently. ‘For goodness’ sake, Carmela, she’s supposed to have an upset tummy. Why isn’t she in bed?’
‘She feeling better, Senora Smeeth, and she want show you her painting.’
Ruth grimaced at her Spanish nanny-cum-housekeeper’s pronunciation. Smeeth was almost as bad as Smith and she rebuked her. ‘Not Smeeth, Carmel. It’s Smyth.’
‘Si, Senora,’ the short, tubby, dark-haired middle-aged woman said.
Ruth wondered why she bothered. She had been correcting Carmela’s pronunciation since the day she had hired her, but it was a complete waste of time. Penelope had picked up the Spanish pronunciation of some letters of the alphabet too, which made the child sound like she had a lisp. This was something else that irritated Ruth, and she was sick of correcting her to the point where she had just about given up.
‘Look, Mummy, it’s a doggy.’
It had been Penny’s birthday at the beginning of the month and she was now six years old. Ruth gave the painting a cursory glance and then said brusquely, ‘Yes, very nice. Now off you go.’
‘Come, Penelope. You Mamma is busy.’
Now that she’d been interrupted, Ruth had lost track of her calculations and, unwilling to go back to the tedious task, she pushed the paperwork to one side. The temperature was rising and the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky on that Monday morning in mid-July. It would be hot outside, but with the blinds drawn and ceiling fans on full, it was relatively cool in her lounge. Ruth’s eyes closed, and her mind drifted.
She had been living in Spain for seven years now, leading a totally different life to the one she had left behind in London. Once known as Adrianna, an exotic dancer, she had fled to Spain in 1970 to get away from the notorious and violent nightclub owner, Vincent Chase.
Ruth shuddered, shying away from those memories, and instead recalled her journey to Spain. She had met Laurence Hamilton-Smyth, a well-bred and -preserved older man, whom she decided would be useful to her until she found her feet in a foreign country. Laurence had been smitten with her, offered to put her up in his villa on the Costa Blanca and soon after, when she’d found that she was pregnant, Laurence had married her.
Six months after they married, seventy-three-year-old Laurence had a stroke and died. With no other family, Laurence had left her fairly comfortably off and she enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle, but now Ruth frowned worriedly as she roused herself to once again look at her bank statements. Even if she pulled her horns in, cut down on expenses, she reckoned there was only enough money to live on for another year. Maybe she could get rid of Carmela, but Ruth baulked at the thought of taking on the housework and cooking herself. Anyway, what Carmela earned was hardly going to make a difference. Ruth knew that if she wanted to maintain her present standard of living, she had to find a way to make money, and plenty of it.
When there was a knock on the door, Ruth heard Carmela going to see who it was. There was the sound of voices and this was followed by the clatter of heels across marble tiles as her neighbour and friend, Lorna Johnson, walked in, looking cool though plump in a white cotton dress, her brown hair tied back in her usual unflattering style. Lorna had another woman with her who was slender, wearing pink, flared cotton trousers, a flowery top and a low-brimmed sun hat.
Lorna smiled and her brown eyes were warm as she said, ‘Hello, Ruth. This is Maureen Day, my cousin, and she’s here on holiday. I’ve popped round to see if you’d like to join us for lunch.’
Maureen pulled off her hat, revealing a mass of short, curly red hair, her eyes widening as she gasped, ‘Adrianna?’
Ruth’s stomach turned a somersault. She had never expected to see any of the girls from Vincent Chase’s club again, but facing one of them now she managed to hide her feelings behind a tight smile as she said, ‘Hello, Lola.’
‘How do you know my cousin’s stage name?’ Lorna asked, looking puzzled. ‘And why did she call you Adrianna?’
It was Maureen who jumped in with the answer, ‘We once performed at the same club in Soho and that’s what she called herself then. Isn’t that right, Adrianna?’
Lorna’s voice was high as she said, ‘A stripper! But you told me you used to be a model, Ruth.’
‘I wasn’t a stripper. I was an exotic dancer.’
Maureen snorted. ‘Still on your high horse I see. You always acted as if you were a cut above the rest of us, but call it what you like, you were still a stripper. It was only thanks to having Vincent Chase as your sugar daddy that you got the top spots.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I hated Vince and he owned me, kept me isolated, a virtual prisoner in his house until I managed to get away,’ Ruth protested, but then wished she had kept her mouth shut as Maureen’s eyes narrowed.
‘Vince was badly burned when someone set fire to his house, and at the same time you disappeared. The police were looking for you, journalists too, but nobody had a clue where you’d gone.’
All Ruth’s composure cracked. ‘I don’t know anything about a fire,’ she lied. ‘It must have happened after I left. Please, Lola, when you go back to England, don’t tell anyone that you’ve seen me.’
‘I doubt anyone would be interested. Vince died in prison a couple of years ago and he’s old news now.’
Ruth found the breath leaving her body in a rush. It took a moment before she could take it in. Vincent Chase was dead. Suddenly it hit her: she felt as though she was free at last – free of him, and free of her fears.
Despite finding out that Ruth had lied to her, Lorna was very fond of her friend. They were
as different as chalk and cheese, both in looks and personalities, yet got on well together.
‘I really did think you were a model,’ Lorna said, yet looking at Ruth it was easy to see why she’d been taken in. Tall and lithe, well spoken, with a haughty manner, Ruth had bearing and poise. She was also a beautiful woman, with long, dark hair, and green, almond-shaped eyes that gave her an exotic appearance.
‘Lorna, I’m sorry I lied to you,’ Ruth said, ‘but you know what the ex-pat community is like. If anyone had known the truth I’d have been ostracised.’
‘Who are they to talk or pass judgement? I think a lot of them have reinvented themselves and their pasts too, making themselves out to be something they’re not.’
‘I know, but imagine the gossip – and I have my daughter to think about.’
As though on cue Penny ran into the room and threw her arms around Lorna’s legs. ‘Aunty, Aunty, look at my dolly.’
‘Hello, darling,’ Lorna said gently as she crouched down to hug the pretty little girl with dark hair like her mother, though she had rounded, brown eyes.
Once Penny got over her initial shyness she chatted happily to Maureen who seemed enchanted with her. The chilly atmosphere had lightened, but after five minutes Ruth told Carmela to take the child away.
Penny waved prettily at them as she was led out, and smiling, Maureen said, ‘Adrianna, she’s gorgeous.’
‘I use my real name now so please, call me Ruth.’
‘Yeah, all right, and you can drop the Lola,’ Maureen said as her eyes swept the room. ‘Looking at this place, you’ve done all right for yourself. Have you found yourself another sugar daddy?’
Lorna gasped in shock. ‘Maureen! That’s a terrible thing to say. Ruth’s a widow and has been for many years.’
‘Blimey, trust me to put my foot in it. I’m sorry, Ruth.’
‘That’s all right. You weren’t to know.’
There was a moment of awkward silence which Lorna filled by saying, ‘Let’s start again. I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving, so would you like to join us for lunch, Ruth?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Come on, Ruth,’ urged Maureen. ‘As Lorna said, let’s start again.’
‘All right then. I’ll just put some shoes on and then we can go.’
Soon, after walking down to the nearby seafront, they were sitting on the terrace of a small bar eating a selection of tapas. Lorna was glad that she was wearing huge sunglasses as they concealed the tears that had suddenly flooded her eyes. In an endeavour to fight them she tried to concentrate on what Maureen was saying to Ruth.
‘I generally don’t tell anyone outside of the business what I do for a living so I can understand why you felt you had to keep it quiet, Adria— sorry, I mean Ruth.’
‘Don’t worry, I find it hard to think of you as Maureen too,’ Ruth replied.
Lorna’s stomach twisted. She had kept something quiet too – something she should have told Richard when he’d asked her to marry him, yet for as long as she could remember her mother had insisted that it remain a secret. It had even been concealed from the rest of the family, her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, so fearing that she would lose him, Lorna had hidden it from Richard too. He was ambitious, and just before they got married a property developer had offered Richard an engineering job in Spain.
When they married, loving Richard so much, the closeness of the sexual act had been enough for Lorna. With a wonderful career ahead of him, Lorna had hoped that the other ramifications wouldn’t matter. For the first two years, they hadn’t. They had been happy, with Richard so busy that the subject was rarely mentioned, and if it was she had been dismissive, saying there was plenty of time. Gradually though, when nothing happened, Richard spoke of it more often and Lorna continued the deception by pretending to be disappointed. But she knew that no matter what she did she would never be able to bear the children they both so desperately wanted.
‘Are you all right, Lorna? You’re very quiet,’ Ruth asked.
Startled back to the present, Lorna quickly said, ‘Yes, I’m fine. This is lovely wine.’
‘Yeah, it ain’t bad,’ Maureen agreed. ‘Here, Ruth, do you remember Yvette?’
Ruth frowned in thought. ‘Was she a hostess?’
‘Yeah, and when Vince’s place closed she tried for a job at the Playboy Club in Mayfair. She fancied being a Bunny Girl.’
‘Did she get taken on?’
‘You must be joking. With all the rich and famous people that frequent the Playboy Club they only want the best. Yvette didn’t pass muster.’
‘Where is she working now?’
‘In “Kats”, and I’m performing there too.’
It all sounded like another world to Lorna. She could remember the shockwaves that had gone through the family when it came out that Maureen was a stripper, but she was fond of her cousin and refused, like some of them, to ostracise her.
‘Lorna, all this must sound dreadful to you,’ said Ruth.
‘Not dreadful, just strange,’ she answered, forcing a smile.
‘You’re lucky to have Lorna for a friend,’ Maureen told Ruth, ‘she’s got a good heart and never judges anyone. How long have you known each other?’
‘We met three years ago, soon after Lorna and Richard moved here.’
At the mention of her husband’s name, Lorna’s stomach churned again. Things had come to a head when Richard said he was worried that it was his fault, and he’d been so concerned for her feelings that she just couldn’t lie to him any longer. She had broken down, at last telling him the truth.
It had been the beginning of the end. Richard had looked at her differently, worked longer hours, buried himself in his career, and stayed away from home more and more. Then, three months ago, having met someone else, Richard left her for good.
Tears welled again, and this time as they rolled down her cheeks, Lorna had to take off her sunglasses to wipe them away. ‘I … I’m sorry.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Maureen asked her worriedly.
Lorna knew that she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer and said, ‘It … it’s Richard. I know I told you he’s away on business, but the truth is, he’s left me.’
‘Oh, Lorna, why didn’t you tell me?’ Maureen said.
‘I … I thought he might change his mind,’ she stammered, ‘but he’s found someone else and wants a divorce.’
‘The bastard,’ Maureen spat. ‘If I get my hands on him I’ll have his guts for garters.’
‘No, no, you can’t blame Richard. We … we’ve been having problems for a long time, and it’s my fault.’
Ruth probed, ‘What sort of problems?’
‘I … I don’t want to talk about it, but it means our house will be sold and I’ll have to go back to England.’
‘Surely you’d rather stay here?’ Ruth said.
‘I would, but once the mortgage is paid off there’ll be little equity to split between us. I’ll hardly have enough to live on so I’ll have to find work.’
‘Aren’t there any jobs here?’ Maureen asked.
‘Yes, but as I can’t speak Spanish I’d be limited.’
‘Lorna,’ said Ruth, ‘with business opportunities opening up now that Franco is no longer in power, more and more Brits are moving to this area. I’m sure you’ll be able to find some sort of work.’
‘I’d probably be able to get a job in an English-owned bar, or restaurant, but the pay is terrible and wouldn’t be enough to cover the rent on a flat. I was a secretary in England so if I go back I should be able to get a job with a decent salary.’
‘Well, love, I know you ain’t keen on your stepdad, so if you come home and need a place to stay until you find your feet, you’d be welcome at my place. I’ve only got one bedroom but you can kip on my couch,’ Maureen offered.
‘Bless you, and I’ll keep it in mind,’ Lorna said, and not wanting to spoil any more of Maureen’s holiday she forced lightness into h
er tone. ‘I feel better now that I’ve told you … a trouble shared as the saying goes, so how about we let our hair down and order another bottle of wine?’
‘You’re on,’ Maureen said.
The wine was drunk, and then another bottle ordered, the conversation ranging from Maureen telling them about the Queen’s Silver Jubilee that had been celebrated earlier in June with street parties all over the country, then on to the latest punk fashion that they all hated and music, with Abba a firm favourite.
At four o’clock, arms linked, all three young women somewhat unsteadily walked home.
Ruth’s head was thumping from the effects of the sun and alcohol. She wasn’t that bothered that Lorna might be returning to England. Ruth had never had any deep feelings for anyone, only herself, but it was something she’d learned to hide from a young age. She copied others, pretended to care when it was expected of her, feigning affection, and at times, if necessary, sympathy.
Impatiently she told Carmela to keep Penelope quiet and went to lie down for an hour, the blinds down to shut out any light. The overhead fan cooled her naked body until she eventually dozed off.
On waking, Ruth took a tepid, refreshing shower, her mind clearing, only to settle on her problems again. She had to find a way to make money, and within a year.
When she had fled to Spain, Ruth’s dream had been to open her own nightclub. Only this time, instead of being a performer she would be the boss, with everyone dancing to her tune. That plan had been shelved when she’d found herself pregnant, and since her marriage, followed by becoming a widow, Ruth had been able to lead the life of a respectable woman of means.
However, with the coffers growing low, maybe it was time to resurrect those plans – yet as this thought crossed her mind, Ruth knew it wouldn’t be possible. Even if she sold the villa, it wouldn’t give her enough capital, and though Spain was more liberal now, it would be some time before any bank would lend a lone woman the money to set up a decent-sized club. That left her one choice. To return to England, something she could do now that Vincent Chase was dead. If that was what it would take to own her own business, then that’s what she would do.
‘I’m sorry, Senora, I have to leave now,’ Carmela said as she led Penny into the room.
